


Sanctis Caeli

by TazmainianDevil



Series: Our Time Now [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M, Gen, Minor Character Death, Saints Row - Freeform, Slow Build, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-14 09:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 44,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4559010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TazmainianDevil/pseuds/TazmainianDevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ninety-eight years ago, an orbiting space station sent down a request for more air filtration parts. Base command sent back two extra air filters and seventeen crates of ordinance. The Ark may have been short on all resources vital to sustaining life but one thing they never ran out of was guns.</p><p>On an Ark that has always been defined by violence, Jake Griffin manages to save his daughter's life and Clarke joins a gang to change the world</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Float On

**Author's Note:**

> There's no excuse for how this took over my brain. It was supposed to be a funny idea and then it grew legs and became a behemoth. 
> 
> Don't drink and fic kids! That is my only advice

 

 

In the last days before the earth was consumed in nuclear fire, one of the orbiting space stations called down a request for more air filtration components. As a result of the jingoism and paranoia that had become typical, base command sent to the station two extra air filters and seventeen crates of ordinance. The Ark may have been short on all resources vital to sustaining life but one thing that never ran out was guns.

 

* * *

 

For Clarke it started when her father was floated. The warring gangs that claimed and fought over parts of the Ark had always been there, but their presence was distant from the well patrolled corridors of Alpha station. Something to be discussed over the dinner table along with particularly interesting patients that had come into the clinic. Then Jake Griffin discovered that the Ark was running out of air.

Abby, Councilwoman to the core, never outright said it but when she seemed certain the problem would work itself out Jake knew she meant that the gangs would kill one another off. True or not, Jake found he couldn't condone that kind of inaction. They had brought Clarke up believing the cardinal rule of the Ark: the strong survive. People joining gangs were doing it for survival. They were fighting against Alpha station’s rule for a better life and they deserved to know that soon there might be no life on the Ark at all. A point he made loudly enough that Clarke could hear it through the wall.

She found him making the video the next day.

“All those groups the council likes to dismiss,” He said sadly. “They’re fighting for good reasons. They just need leadership. As long as they squabble with themselves it’s easy for the council to ignore them or turn them against each other.”     

“And you think this will make a difference?”

“I think they deserve to know.”

“Then I want to help.”

“Clarke, no. I need you to stay clear of this. If the council finds out –“

“I won’t tell anyone.”

Jake reached out to cup her face in one hand. “Stubborn, just like your mother.”

He had just enough time to catch her up in a hug when the door to their unit burst open. “You don’t know what’s happening, Clarke. You don’t know what’s happening,” He whispered insistently, not letting go even when the hum of shocksticks filled the air. “Say it.”

“I don’t know what’s happening,” She repeated, confused. Then the guards tore him from her arms and she recognized the words for the shield they were. “What’s happening?” This time she yelled them, playing up a daughter’s frantic terror.

She kept repeating them. To the guards, to the council, to her mother. A mantra of confusion that made them dismiss her. And once she had held her father for the last time and watched him sucked out into the cold emptiness of space, Clarke ran.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t that Clark had never been off Alpha station, but there was a pretty big difference between regimented upper levels of Mecha where her father worked - or had worked - and the unpatrolled hallways of Factory. Splashes of paint tagged the grey walls with bright colours and music vibrated the deckplates, trash collected in corners and Clark passed at least one person trying to sell her stolen goods. Clark adjusted the overlarge, grease stained jacket she’d taken from her father’s closet, trying to look less than completely uncomfortable when a voice interrupted her.

“Can you spare any ration tickets?”

Startled, Clarke looked down to see what she had thought was a pile of debris resolve itself  into a girl, no more than eleven or twelve. “Oh! No, I’m sorry I don’t have any,” Clarke cursed herself for not thinking to raid the stash of tickets her mother kept locked in the drawer of her desk. “They should let you in at a cafeteria though, right?”

The girl gave her a baleful look. “Caf space is guarded.” She said, like Clarke might be deaf or stupid.

Shouting caught Clarke’s attention before she could reply. A group of men dressed in blue had come up on a knot of kids at the end of the hall who were painting over something with slashes of bright yellow. They postured for a minute, one of the yellow kids shouting about the Kings and waving a club made out of old cracked piping.

Then one of the men in blue pulled out a gun and all hell broke loose.

The half the kids in yellow took off, the rest of them pulling out weapons of their own. The girl on the floor seized Clarke’s hand and pulled them both into an alcove as bullets pinged off the corridor walls. Clark had a sudden sickening vision of the look on her father’s face as decompression had wrenched him out into space and was thankful that the bullets manufactured and used on the Ark were metal that was much too soft to penetrate the hull.

They shot through people just fine though. One of the Kings in yellow went down just in front of them, staring sightlessly back at Clarke as their blood seeped out onto the deck. The girl screamed, high and terrified, and a blue-clad thug ducked around the corner. He laughed when he saw them huddled against the back wall.

“Sorry girls,” He was grinning, wide and unpleasant as he leveled the gun at them. “No witnesses.”

In a burst of panic and rage Clarke threw herself forward, trying to stop him shooting the little girl long enough for her to get away. Whether the thug was all talk or she just surprised him, the bullet she was expecting never came. Instead Clarke rammed into his middle at speed, knocking him sprawling on the floor. “Run!” She screamed without looking behind her, lashing out at the man’s face with a punch that would have made Wells deeply ashamed of her.

She managed to get two wild hits in before one of his crew struck her in the side of the head with the butt of his gun and Clarke’s world went black.

 

* * *

 

She woke to the sound of a gunshot.

There were two men standing over her. The older, shorter one was holding the gun, pointed not at Clarke but at the man in blue who was lying next to her and now missing the back of his head. The other, tall, with his dark hair slicked back, had his hand on the shoulder of the girl. He said something too low for Clarke to hear and then gave her a nod which she returned before running off.

“She’s okay?” Clarke tried to sit up and then fell back to her elbows again when the world started to swim.

The tall man – well boy really, he couldn’t have been much older than Clarke – gave her a strange look but his companion smiled and offered her a hand. “Thanks to you, kid. Seems you’re a fighter.” He steadied her when she swayed a little. “I’m Shumway; he’s Bellamy, you can thank him later. If you’re sick of shit like that you should come with us.”

“You’re recruiting now?” The Bellamy protested. “She’s not even from Factory.”

“That doesn’t mean a damn thing,” Shumway cut him a reprimanding glare. “It can’t. If we’re going to change things we need everyone we can get. At each other’s throats is just where the council wants us.”

 _As long as they squabble with themselves it’s easy for the council to ignore them or turn them against each other._ Jake had told Clarke. _They just need leadership._

“Shumway, she’s just lost. She’s not-“

“I want to help.” She interrupted.  They both stopped to look at her; one pleased, one skeptical. Clarke set her feet and tipped her chin up in defiance of Bellamy’s doubt. “I can help.”

“Good,” Shumway clapped her on the shoulder. “Follow us to the church.”

Bellamy took a look at her bloody knuckles as he let her walk ahead and snorted. “Hope you can throw a punch better than that, Princess.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke had been to the church on Alpha station before, to see the tree, but this place clearly hadn’t been used for any kind of religious service in a long time. The seats that weren’t broken were shoved to the side, leaving an open space in the center of the floor and people who were definitely not dressed to worship were loitering around, talking and laughing. Shumway strode confidently to the far end of the room, stepping onto a pile of crates that put him a head and shoulders above everyone else. “Alright listen up!” The room fell silent, all eyes on him. “Every one of you here knows what they need to do. Those assholes are running around thinking they own this station. I don’t care what colours they’re wearing – Floaters, Kings, jumped up Guards – no one’s making me scared to walk Factory. We need to lock this shit down right now.”

There was a chorus of agreement from the assembled people and Clarke found herself nodding along. Shumway wasn’t a great speaker but he obviously knew his audience.  

From the corner of her eye she saw a boy with floppy hair and wide set eyes catch sight of her and do a double take. “Who the fuck is this chick?” He shouted. Bellamy, who was still standing near Clarke reached out to cuff him across the back of the head.

“Blake and I found her, she says she wants in.”

 “Shumway if she wants to run with us she’s gotta be canonized.” The boy looked gleeful enough to make Clarke nervous, and there was a matching grin spreading across Bellamy’s face when she turned to him for an explanation.

“He’s right Shumway,” He called without taking his eyes off her. “Everyone had to do it.”

Clarke was jostled towards the middle of the room, people backing away from her laughing and whooping. She spun in place, looking over her shoulder at Shumway as he stepped down to close the circle.

“You ready for this, kid?”

“Ready for what?” The question wasn’t really necessary, from the way the boy who had shouted was cracking his knuckles as he lined up at the edge of the ring. It was going to be a fight. Bellamy’s comment about throwing punches suddenly made a lot more sense.

“Blood in, blood out.” Shumway said.

The floppy haired boy whooped and threw himself at Clarke, winding up to a wild hay-maker.

On Alpha station guards patrolled the corridors regularly and curfew was strictly enforced. Most people would go their whole lives with no battle wounds more severe than slicing their finger on a kitchen knife. But Clarke’s father worked on Mecha station – constantly contested territory; her mother ran the hospital – where people were willing to do a lot for medicine they’d been denied; and her best friend was the Chancellor’s son – with the Ark’s biggest target on his back. Clarke ducked under the boy’s punch and jabbed up hard at his septum.

There was a collective _ooooh_ of pain from the crowd at the sound of the crunch that came from his nose. The boy staggered back, yelling as blood began to flow.

For a moment no one spoke; the crowd just stared as Clarke adjusted her feet, too wary to drop her guard. Then Bellamy spread his arms wide with a disgusted look on his face and flicked his hands at Clarke. “Well?”

This time three of them rushed her. 

Clarke got maybe two disciplined punches and a kick in before the fight devolved into flailing and dirty tactics. Someone hit her hard enough in the solar plexus to take all the air out of her lungs so she bullrushed him as she doubled over and landed on his groin with her full weight when they both fell. A shape leaned over as she tried to catch her breath and Clarke kicked out in a panic. She rolled to her knees just in time to avoid a heel driving itself into the ground where her head had been a moment before, but not in time to miss the kick to the ribs which sent her rolling across the floor.  Somehow she made it back to her feet before anyone could get another hit in and then she was throwing out her elbows and scratching with her nails, jabbing at any wounds she could see and screaming in defiance.

When the hits stopped coming she was on one knee, with blood in her mouth and dripping into her eyes but no one else was rushing forward. Clarke staggered up, her ribs screamed in protest but they didn’t shift and she could still inhale fully so they were probably only bruised. She spat blood on the deck and turned to Bellamy, watching her from the edge of the circle with a grin that was sharp as a knife. Clarke stepped towards him, raising her hands to a guard again slowly and with effort, then tipped her head at him in challenge.

He laughed, the sly grin blowing out into a real smile. “Brave Princess. Shumway she’s not smart but she’s got guts.”

“I am so smart.” Clarke protested, but it came out a little slurred around her rapidly swelling lip.

Shumway threw her a length of purple cloth, looking pleased. “You earned your colors today. Blood in, blood out."

The group cheered, crowding around to congratulate Clarke, and help her stay on her feet. She smiled, despite how much it hurt. Her whole world was dying slowly and her father was dead, but these people could do help. She’d passed their challenge and now she was part of something that might make a change.

"That's some impressive shit,” A man in a work shirt tagged ‘Red’ in neatly stitched letters clapped a grease stained hand on Clarke’s back so hard she nearly fell over. “The only other Saint who kicked ass like that was Blake.”

Bellamy arched a brow, looking unimpressed. "Took me half the time," He scoffed. “And I could stand up afterwards.”

Clark used the back of her middle finger to catch the blood that was still flowing from the cut on her forehead and flick it off onto Bellamy’s shoes. Red laughed approvingly at his grimace. “I like this chick.”

“Yeah,” A girl with a long ginger ponytail bumped Clarke’s shoulder with her own. "Welcome to the Sky Saints."

Shumway waved everyone to silence again, walking through the crowd to make sure they were all listening. "Let's get down to business. If we're serious about taking back our station, we have to let those motherfuckers know what time it is. Unless we wipe them out, they'll keep coming. It won’t be settled until the Floaters and the Kings are nothing but a memory." He pointed to Red, who stepped away from Clarke and straightened so that the group could get eyes on him.

"Red, you’re in charge of watching the damn guard. Weapons manufacturing in Mecha station is up and I want to know why, and what we need to watch out for.  Be smart on how you move against them. See if you can get the engineers to turn; we need them alive and willing to work for us if we’re gonna keep our foothold.”

"Got it _._ " Red nodded.

“Salujah,” Shumway called and a dark skinned woman who’d been slouching against the wall straightened up sharply looking mildly alarmed. “You’re dealing with the Kings.”

“Not a chance.” She replied instantly.

“The fuck you say?” The sudden anger in Shumway’s voice and expression was enough to have everyone backing up a step.

Salujah looked contrite but determined. “Anyone but them.”

"You scared of going against Green and Grus?" Red teased.

"Man, fuck that,” Bellamy interrupted, raising his hand. His tone was mocking but his eyes rested on Salujah for a moment and he looked almost concerned. “I'll take Grus out."

"Blake, it's not that simple."

"Bullets still kill assholes, right? Besides I’ve got a score to settle with him."

Shumway turned to the boy whose nose Clarke had broken. He was standing with another young, dark haired man, both of them flanking Bellamy like bodyguards. “Keep an eye on your boy."

"I don't need fucking babysitters, Shumway." He spat.

Shumway stared him down until Bellamy dropped his challenging posture with a noise of irritation and then repeated more slowly. "Keep an eye on your boy."

“Who’s got the Floaters?” Red interrupted the stare down.

“I do.” The voice was female but it was a moment before Clarke could peer around the crowd to get a good enough look at the diminutive woman to tell she was wearing an armband in Floaters’ blue.

“Rachel, why are you wearing that blue shit?” Bellamy demanded.

“I asked Lemkin to join up with the Floaters. We don’t know enough about their operations, so I wanted someone on the inside.”

“Perks of a history with the skybox.” Lemkin shrugged.

Someone in the crowd snorted. “I didn’t think the Floaters had girls for sale.”

Bellamy rounded on the group, practically snarling but Lemkin was quicker. All Clarke saw was a flash of her long curls and then there was a guy on the floor whining and bleeding. “Anyone else want to say something cute?” She asked.

“Don’t throw your shoulder so much.” Bellamy called. Lemkin turned a glare on him, but he just held out a hand for a hi-five.

“Good to know we’ve got a volunteer for cleaning duty, “Shumway waved a dismissive hand at the prone man. “Pick him up. Anybody doesn’t have a job, you talk to one of these three. They’ll have something for you. It’s our time now,” He grinned at them. “Let’s get this shit started!”

 

* * *

 

The energy after Shumway’s speech meant that the church emptied quickly. Saints running off left and right to who knew where. Clarke just slumped onto the nearest bench and began to catalog her injuries, too overwhelmed and exhausted to think.

“Go home and sleep it off Princess,” Bellamy sauntered over to her after the group of people crowding for his attention had dispersed. “No one expects you to do too much after all that.”

Clarke hadn’t made any plans for where she was going to go. She didn’t know a soul outside of Alpha station who wouldn’t report her to the guard – or worse, to her mother. She tried to draw in a deep breath then choked as her ribs protested, and the whole weight of the day came falling in on her. Jerking her head awake from Bellamy, Clarke blinked rapidly to dispel the burn of threatening tears. Maybe Shumway would let her stay in the church for tonight.

“Oh hell Princess. Get up.” Bellamy huffed.

“What?”

“Those punches knock out your hearing? Come on.” He chivied her to her feet and out of the church. Just down the hall he stopped and banged his fist against the wall in a sequence she vaguely recognized as the first half of ‘shave and a haircut’. Clarke hummed the last two notes, helplessly and Bellamy shot her a bemused glance but was stopped from commenting by the wall opening.

The girl from the corridor, who Clarke had tried to save just hours ago, peered out at them with a wary expression. “New roommate for you Charlotte.” Bellamy said. “She’s a Saint now which means?”

“She’s family.” Charlotte repeated dutifully, even if she looked a little skeptical at all the blood on Clarke’s face.

“Right, so you look after her and she’ll look after you and both of you stay out of the halls after curfew or I’ll sell you to the Floaters for spare parts.” He banged on the wall panel once for emphasis and then vanished down the corridor.

Clarke’s new home was an old single person unit with the door replaced by a wall panel. There were four narrow beds crammed into the small space that was meant to serve as both a living and sleeping area for one. It was smaller than Clarke’s bedroom back on Alpha station and she had to share it with Charlotte who was watching her warily from where she’d perched on the bed farthest from the door.

Clarke took the bunk on the opposite wall bouncing up and down to check the give. There wasn’t much. She gave Charlotte a reassuring smile all the same. “Feels like home.”

Oddly enough, it actually did.

 

* * *

A bang on the door woke Clarke from a dead sleep and had her scrambling for it before she even remembered where she was or why. Lemkin was on the other side of it, looking impatient. “You look like shit,” she held up a hand to stop Clark before she could do anything with the length of purple cloth that she’d fallen asleep clutching like a lifeline. “Leave that. No colours where we’re going.”

Clarke pulled on her boots, not bothering to tie the laces and checked over Charlotte, who hadn’t even stirred at the knock on their door. Lemkin threw her a ration bar as Clarke slipped into the hall. “Where did you get this?” Bars were regulated, usually given to the guard who might have to eat on shift.

“Raided a kitchen supply,” Lemkin shrugged. “Most of us can’t go to monitored caf halls. Figured that since you were sleeping in the safehouse, you couldn’t either.”

Clarke considered for a moment how fast the guards would be on it if Abby Griffin’s runaway daughter appeared in a Factory caf. “Good point.”  She shrugged and unwrapped the bar.

“So why did you join?” Clarke asked, once she’d wolfed down all she could stomach of the chemical tasting rations. “The Saints, I mean.”

Lemkin sucked in a breath. “Blondie, I know you’re new but asking that is gonna get the shit kicked out of you.” She looked Clarke’s slightly purple face over. “Again.”

“I didn’t mean-“

“Yeah, yeah,” Lemkin waved her off. “What’s a nice mother like me doing with a crowd like this? Everyone wants to know.”

“You have a kid?

“And a husband. My daughter just turned seven. Most beautiful thing in the whole universe and she never had enough to eat or drink or breath until I joined the Saints.”

“But what if something happens to you?” A horrible thought occurred to Clarke. “You’re undercover! If they catch you and figure out who you are-“

“Then she’s got her daddy. He’d lay down his life for her, no question.”

“But is it safe? A weakness like that?”

Lemkin stuck out one foot abruptly, sending Clark tripping over her unlaced boots and face first onto the deckplates. “God you’re a judgmental bitch Blondie, you know that?” Lemkin crouched down beside Clarke’s head and poked her until she rolled over and could see her face. “You’re practically an infant, so I’m gonna tell you something and you better fucking listen. You cut out all your softness and you’ll be steel, sure; you’ll also be miserable, crazy and dangerous to anyone around you.” She hauled Clarke up and glared pointedly at her boots until Clarke bent to tie her laces. “If you don’t have something to hold onto besides anger, it’ll fuck you up. Love isn’t a weakness, its strength you need to keep going in this shithole.”

Clarke paused, thinking of her father’s face before he was sucked out into the vacuum. The calm there when he said he loved her. “Okay,” She straightened. “Okay.” But it wasn’t okay, not at all.

Rachel Lemkin and her husband were willing to die so their daughter could live and in a year she’d die anyway. They wouldn’t cherish the time that was left the same way, they wouldn’t try to find a solution because the council wouldn’t tell anyone it was happening. They were happy to float her father and bury the truth.

But Clarke didn’t have to do that. “Rachel…”

“Leave it, we’re good.” Rachel reached out to tug Clarke’s hood over her hair, forestalling her confession with business. “Since you’re new, Shumway and I figured you won’t be recognized in Floater territory. Any dark secrets that are gonna cause problems in Prison or Arrow?” Clarke shook her head and Rachel nodded. “Good. I’m leaving before you hit the market; its better if no one sees us together. I want you to do a sweep behind me, watch the Floaters’ positions and remember where I stop. Those stalls are gonna be the mainstays of the Floaters’ protection racket. Here,”

She held something out and Clarke looked down to see that it was a gun, glinting dull grey in the light of earthrise through the window. “It won’t bite.” Rachel teased, which was just enough of a prick to her ego to make Clarke to grab it.

It was heavier than it looked and cold against her palm.

“I’m gonna assume you’ve never used one before?” The question was rhetorical, Rachel didn’t even pause. “You shouldn’t be using one today either but if you need to then brace the grip with your free hand, squeeze the trigger as smoothly as you can and just don’t point it at anything you don’t want to die, okay?”

Rachel waited for her nod of understanding and then picked up her pace as they rounded the next corner, leaving Clarke to trail behind into the market.

She’d been here a few times, though not terribly often. Alpha station had its own version of the market which set up every few weeks for trading. This one was more permanent and frequently less legal. Constructed in the wide open space that formed the link between Prison and Arrow stations the market was a motley collection of hawkers selling anything you could get your hands on in the Ark. Clothing, furniture, dishes, bedding, spare parts re-purposed into all manner of things – some of them inherited or scavenged, some of them liberated in other ways. Technically everything on the Ark was supposed to be collected and redistributed according to need, but the market had grown up anyway, trading luxuries and essentials to anyone with the means or the need. Though it was technically against the charter, everyone used it. The guards simply didn’t patrol. Which made it the perfect place for a gang to move in.

Where Clarke was used to seeing black uniforms there were scattered figures in blue armbands. The Floaters were all visibly armed, but idle. They weren’t expecting trouble and it showed in the way they meandered through their patrols, and the long gaps between sweeps. Pulling an old pad and a stub of pencil out of her pocket, Clarke scribbled a quick outline of the space, adding small circles for where the guards were standing and tiny stars for each stall Rachel lingered at.

Each time Rachel stopped the shopkeepers responded differently, some were obsequious and smiling as they handed over their sheaves of tickets, some just seemed resigned. One even started a shouting match that prompted two other heavies in blue to drift close. Rachel waved them off but their appearance had been enough to get the angry woman to back down and she gave up the protection payment without a fight.

They did one more circuit of the market with Clarke trailing and trying not to look like she was trailing, before Rachel stopped to lean against a wall. Clarke sidled over as carefully as she could, examining a rack of glasses she didn’t need rather than looking at Rachel.

“Everything okay?”

Rachel snorted. “It’s not a spy movie, you can look at me. No one’s here.”

Clarke turned around with a sigh of relief. “I got the patterns down,” She offered her notebook. “And the stalls. Did I miss anything?”

“No, it’s good,” Rachel said. “What you need to do is hit these guys, no purple at first. Just take out all the Floaters and rough up the vendors. Then bring in some Saints flying colours and make it look like you’re running them off.”

“Like the Floaters can’t protect anyone but the Saints can.”

“Exactly, then we take over their protection and the Floaters lose their territory-“

“Hey Lem!”

“-Fuck!” Rachel cursed as three men in blue came sauntering over. “Don’t say anything and hide that shit.” She gestured to the notebook as she stepped around Clarke to greet the Floaters. “What’s up?”

“Junior wants to know if you got the payment.”

“Oh,” She shouldered off the bag and wave it. “Yeah, got it.”

“Who’s this,” One of them peered around Rachel to get a better look at Clarke. She ducked her head but not fast enough to avoid him commenting. “She’s cute Lem, I didn’t know you had a girl.”

“She’s not my girl asswipe.”

“She want in on the Floaters? ‘Cause I got an entrance exam for her right here,” He used both heavily tattooed hands to gesture at his crotch. “I bet you’ll pass with flying colours baby.”

“She’s –“ Clarke noted the way all three of the Floaters were covered in crude pictures, and how one of them was eyeing her notebook suspiciously.

“I’m her tattoo artist!” She interrupted. “Lem said she needed ink, since all you guys are rocking it.”

The thugs relaxed, preening a little at the complement. Clarke pretended to fumble with the notebook, giving her a chance to flip pages to an old drawing she’d done of a bird, waving it at Rachel and the others. “So, this is a good one, it’ll look great on your shoulders. Come by my unit some time tonight and we’ll go over everything.”

Rachel narrowed her eyes but nodded easily. “Alright, Blondie. Don’t forget what I said though; no colours at first.”

“See you then!” Clarke said and took off through the crowd as fast as she could without drawing attention.

 

* * *

 

Shumway seemed pleased with the plan when Clarke made it back to the church. He called up a crew and left her to run it, which she was less than thrilled about. Still, she was the one with the information and the Saints seemed content enough to listen and follow her lead. Getting them to give up their colours for the first part was a little more difficult, but their pride was soothed by the chance to take down some Floaters.

Clarke put herself with the second group, reasoning that she’d be better off where she could observe change the plan if she needed to. Despite her worries the whole operation went off as smooth as silk. The plainclothes saints neatly took out the idle Floaters guards and roughed up their businesses just the right amount before Clarke and her crew rushed in, shouting “Sky Saints!” and shooting to miss.

There was one hairy moment when an unaccounted for Floater leapt out of the shadows between two stalls and clipped one of Clarke’s men in the arm. She rounded on her heel and braced the gun just like Rachel had told her, squeezing the trigger in one smooth pull. The recoil threw her too off balance for a second shot but the Floater was already laid out on the deck with a round hole in his chest and blood seeping into his shirt.

Clarke waited for the panic, the guilt, that sick sinking feeling she always got when she watched her mother loose a patient but it never came. There was only the fading rush of adrenaline and a sense of satisfaction. Enriq was grazed, but from the sound of his complaining behind her he’d be fine, her people were safe and Rachel Lemkin’s family would have that much more air.

She could live with that.

Clarke’s innocent face and halo of blonde waves turned out to be just as effective at talking people in to buying more useful protection as it had been talking her and Wells out of trouble. Even the people who’d just seen her kill a man seemed vulnerable to her very genuine concern for their safety. She had most of the crew stay behind to clean up the mess and establish their territory but by the time the curfew bell rung Clarke could go back to Shumway and tell him the market was theirs.

They broke out a bottle of moonshine stolen from Agro station to celebrate, and though the place where her father had been still felt like a hole in the core of her, Clarke slept easily and without dreams.

 

* * *

 

It was a few days before they heard from Rachel again. Time Clarke spent letting her bruises heal and getting to know the people she was calling her brothers.

The Saints seemed like a pretty motley operation but they didn’t spend all their time terrorizing children or making sacrifices to pagan gods the way that some Alpha station mothers said they did. Mostly they just hung around the church waiting for their rounds, staying on call in case of trouble and shooting the shit. It seemed hilariously like being part of the guard. Albeit with less paperwork and way more firearms training.

Bellamy ran the firearms training. Well that wasn’t strictly true, Salujah ran the firearms training – she was a confident, clean shot and she could disassemble and reassemble a pistol for maintenance in a terrifyingly short amount of time – but Bellamy was there so often, needling and correcting his own crew that he’d sort of taken over as unofficial instructor for the truly hopeless.

Not that Clarke was hopeless. Salujah had explained that once someone wasn’t afraid of the recoil and knew what it was like to take down a living target, everything else was just repetition. So she had set herself to practicing in the small hours of the night because it meant that the range was empty of hecklers and because it meant she was back at the right time to help her roommate.

Charlotte was a nice enough girl. Quiet and a little suspicious, but she seemed to have decided Clarke was good people. She wasn’t officially a Saint – no one wanted to put a twelve year old girl through canonization – but she hung around wearing purple and running messages, and when she lived anywhere she lived in the safehouse.

She also woke up screaming three nights out of four. The first time Clarke had woken bleary eyed from a dead sleep and shot a hole in the wall looking for an attacker who wasn’t there.  The second she’d managed to get up without damaging anything, but had been to sleepy to be of any help calming Charlotte down. After that, Clarke decided she’d be better off staying up until Charlotte had a nightmare, and then soothing her through it before going to bed herself.

It wasn’t until the fourth night that Charlotte told Clarke what her dreams were about.

The story pulled out of her like it was bringing all her insides out with it. Clarke stroked her hair and tried not to have a panic attack because her solution to intense emotion had been to run away and join a gang and she was not equipped to help anyone else. But Charlotte didn’t seem to need answers so much as she needed to feel like she wasn’t alone. So Clarke didn’t tell her that it would stop hurting, she didn’t tell her everything was going to be alright. She told Charlotte that the Saints would be her family now.

Clarke told her that she _wasn’t_ alone and, slowly, she started to believe it herself.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, Shumway waved Clarke over. “Come on kid, you’re up.”

“Me?” She looked over her shoulder at the assembly of Saints, lounging and drinking and playing cards. Most of them were older than she was by nearly a decade, all of them had been with the gang longer.

“Did I stutter? You led the last Floater operation. Get your ass in here.”

From the corner he and his boys had claimed Clarke heard Bellamy laugh as she scrambled into the office after them. Rachel was waiting there, still in blue, with a triumphant expression on her face.

“It’s a crime spree.” She said, unrolling a hand scrawled map on the table in front of Shumway. It was the floor plan of Alpha station, several key rooms circled in red.

He whistled low and long. “They’ve got some balls on them, don’t they?”

“They’re desperate to recover what they lost when we shoved them out of the marketplace,” Rachel agreed. “And they want the prestige of it. If the Floaters can hit Alpha and get out clean they’re gonna get a lot of buzz and a lot of new recruits.”

“The hospital isn’t on here,” Clarke touched the open room on the plan. There were red circles on the rooms around it, but the hospital was clean.

Rachel shrugged. “Too heavily guarded?”

There were a pair of armed guards stationed outside twenty-four hours a day but that wouldn’t have been a deterrent for so many Floaters. “The stuff in there is more valuable than anything else on the Ark. The morphine alone is so strictly regulated – “ She cut herself off, noting the speculative looks the other two were giving her. “Never mind. Maybe they don’t think it’s worth the hassle.”

“The guard would definitely come out in force for that.” Shumway nodded, but his attention was firmly on Clarke now, instead of the operation.

Rachel cleared her throat, clapping both hands on the table loudly. “The point is that they’re gonna try to hit these places. I say we hit them first.”

“No,” Shumway said. “Alpha’s valuable, but it’s a hornet’s nest. We get that station riled against us and we can kiss our asses goodbye. Go on back to the Floaters, Lemkin. Don’t break your cover. We’ll make sure that they don’t get anything they’re after.”

Rachel huffed in irritation at being dismissed, but she didn’t argue with Shumway. Turning instead to Clarke. “Looks like it’s going to be a stealth op, Blondie. You might want to get yourself a hat.”

 

* * *

 

When Clarke set foot on Alpha station for the first time since her father had died she had four Saints at her back and her hair tucked under a knitted beanie that Red had thrown her when they started moving out.

She’d dropped it when he shouted _think fast_ and Red had laughed and walked over to hand her the rest of what he was carrying. A radio, smaller than the ones the guards wore but clearly built out of scrap and spare wire. “Had a genius girl down in zero-g engineering whip these up for me,” He explained. “Unused frequency, works anywhere on the Ark and small enough to hide. Keep it on you somewhere no one will see.”

Clarke nodded and clipped it to the strap of her bra, where it would be covered by the fall of her shirt. Red gave a lascivious eyebrow wiggle she returned with a glare and then whipped the next radio overhand across the room. “Blake!”

Bellamy caught it without turning his head from where one of his crew – the one with the floppy hair whose nose Clarke had broken – was complaining.

“…We need more people, If you’d just fucking replace Miller.” His voice rose loud enough to carry over the room.

“No one’s replacing Miller.”

“What good is a second if he’s in the damn Skybox?”

“He’ll be useful when he’s out,” Bellamy looked irritated, like this was an argument he’d had before. “Saint’s don’t fucking abandon each other when it’s going to be less than a year.”

“And if they decide he’s gotta float?”

“Then we kill all the guards and hide him in the floor,” He said with a wry smile. “You want to be second Murphy? Stop whining and prove you can.” Bellamy turned on his heel and it was only when they locked eyes that Clarke realized she was staring and jerked her head away.

“Punkass isn’t wrong,” Red shrugged when she looked back to him. “About Miller. That kid would be useful tonight. No one else on the crew can crack a lock so fast.”

“You think they’ll let him out?” Most cases that came up for review were pardoned. The population of the Ark had to be maintained, after all. But theft tended to be a grey area.

“Oh sure, Miller’s old man is a guard.”

That might actually make the whole thing worse. Clarke hoped the review board wouldn’t try to make a point of Miller. Bellamy seemed to think he was worth waiting for and he sounded useful.

“Better get my team moving out,” Red nodded. “See you on the flip side, kiddo.”

He and his people were headed for the communications hub to keep the guards squelched. Clarke, Bellamy and Salujah were each heading a team to a different part of the station. She hadn’t noticed she was holding her breath during the assignments until Shumway had placed Clarke’s team far away from her old housing unit.

Her team was four: Koster, one of the older members of the Saints who bristled with knives and surly expressions; Trent, a weedy kid who was trying and badly failing to grow a mustache; Shas, a girl even smaller than Clarke, but with a ferocity that belied her stature; and Enriq a bald, Hispanic man who managed to move almost silently despite being the approximate size of a tank.

Clarke held up one hand, clenched into a fist the way she’d seen soldiers do in military movies. Enriq bumped it as he shuffled past her down the hall, whispering an explosion noise.

“It means stop.” She hissed.

“Next time,” Shas said as she came sauntering up. “Just say stop.”

“Oh go to hell.” Clark shot back.

“Let’s send these guys first.” Enriq waved them over and they all stuck their heads around the corner to see six Floaters emptying a supply room.

“I’ve got this.” Shas handed off her weapon to Koster and strolled out around the corner, stopping short with a fake-terrified squeak that was just loud enough to draw the Floaters attention. “Help!” She cried plaintively and then sprinted back to them.

“Get that bitch!” Clarke judged the sound of running feet just right so that when the first Floater rounded the corner he ran at full speed into the swing of her big pipe wrench. His homeboy couldn’t stop short enough, tripped over his crumpling friend and took Enriq’s bat to the back of his skull. The third man rounded the corner more slowly but one of Koster’s knives found its mark in his forehead pretty fast.

“What the fuck?” Came the shout down the hallway. Clarke rounded the corner to see the remaining three Floaters going for their weapons.

Trent whooped in excitement, running out into the hall with his gun drawn. He picked off two with reckless shots that drowned out Enriq’s warning yell but weren’t half as loud as the burst of automatic fire that cut him down.

Shas cried out and Clarke heard Koster swear but she only had eyes for the Floater who was fumbling for another clip. She dashed out from cover and swung wide; her wrench sent the magazine flying down the corridor and left the thug howling over his broken hand.

“You son of a bitch!”

Clarke took the momentum of the first swing, of all her rage and pushed it into whipping the heavy weight of the wrench down onto the Floater’s head as hard as she could.

He slumped to the deck with half his skull pulped. Behind her Clarke heard Shas start to cheer and then cut off. At the end of the hall - breathing hard, looking horrified, and in his pajamas - was Wells. He opened his mouth and Clarke didn’t know if he was going to say her name or shout for the guards but either way she launched herself forward and in three sprinting steps she leapt, knocking him hard to the floor and wrestling him down until she was sitting on his chest with one hand over his mouth. Never in seventeen years of play-fights and sparring matches had she managed to pin him that fast.

“Don’t you dare say a word.” She told him, bending forward to whisper in his ear. “My father is dead because of you. If you tell anyone where I am or who I am Wells, I will kill you.” She dropped the now bloody wrench against the deckplates right by his head and was impressed when he didn’t even flinch. Louder, she continued. “You’re going to go on home and you’re not going to tell anyone anything because you didn’t see anything. The Saints are going to take care of your little rodent problem.”

“Hey, isn’t that the Chancellor’s kid?”

Clarke felt her face screw up in frustration for a moment before she could will herself back to calm. “So?”

“So he saw our fucking faces!” Enriq spun so only his hulking back was visible. Shas and Koster stayed where they were, though they looked almost as wary.

“Who cares,” Clarke scoffed, before any of them could think about murdering witnesses. “You think he knows the name of anyone from Factory? We’re floated if the guards catch us anyway. I’m not afraid of the Chancellor. Now,” She turned back to Wells. “I know you aren’t stupid so you aren’t going to say shit, right?” He nodded, his expression solemn even around the cover of her hand. “Good.”

Clarke levered herself off him. Wells scrambled to his feet and stared at her for a long moment before Koster half shouted “Get the fuck out of here!” and he took off running.

Shas laughed and shot a grin at Clarke. “You are seriously crazy, boss.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. Death and Wells had sucked any thrill out of the evening. “Let’s just get this done.”

 

* * *

 

 

Between the teams, the Saints managed to either take out or leave for the guards every one of the Floaters who’d tried to hit Alpha station. Wounds were mostly superficial and besides Trent there had been only one other loss. So when they hit the rendezvous at a run, everyone was riding high.

Enriq and Shas were telling anyone who would listen about how Clarke, had threatened the Chancellor’s kid. It was getting bigger with each recounting and Clarke wouldn’t be surprised if by tomorrow fictional-her had battled a seven foot Chancellor who could shoot lasers from his eyes.

Across the crowd, Bellamy was grinning with blood on his teeth. A cut at the corner of his mouth said he’d taken a few hits, but the scrapes over his knuckles were evidence that he’d dished out more. He raised his brows questioningly when he caught her eye and he wandered close as they trooped back to the church.

“Alright there, Princess?” He swiped two fingers over her brow and they came back bloody.

“Better than you,” she taunted. “None of the blood on me is mine.”

“Don’t get fucking cocky. My whole team came back.”

Clarke’s mouth dropped open. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Just don’t want you getting all high and mighty ‘cause you threatened a kid,” He jerked his thumb in Shas’ direction.

“So you’re throwing a Saint’s death at me just to be a dick.”

“A death that wouldn’t have happened if you’d been careful.” He shouted.

“He didn’t fucking follow orders and some Floater got a lucky shot, goddammit. You’re not giving Salujah shit about her team.”

“Salujah is a fucking adult. She knows how to handle things.”

“And you clearly have a problem with how young I am seeing as your second is in the Skybox,” Clarke was shouting now too, dimly aware they were attracting attention. “Or are you just pissed at me because you can’t protect your people either?”

Bellamy’s face tightened in rage but before he could respond Shumway pushed through the crowd they were gathering. “What the fuck is this? We get a success against the Floaters, we lose good people and you two are squabbling like children?”

“He started it!” Clarke began at the same time as Bellamy said “It was her fault!”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Shumway cut them both off and they resorted to glaring at one another. “You two handle your shit or so help me I will bench you both and make Red figure this out.”

Red’s protest was covered by Bellamy’s sneer. “Princess just needs to get over herself.” He sauntered away before Clarke could say anything.

“What an asshole.” She muttered, forgetting that Shumway was still close enough to hear until his laugh startled her.

“He is, but he’s earned it. I’m not saying you two have to be best friends, but you need to work together.”

Clarke squared her shoulders. “I can,” She promised. “I will.”

Shumway nodded his approval. “You did good tonight, kid. Don’t forget that.”

He melted away into the crowd and Clarke stood for a moment, feeling lighter just for having his approval, before Enriq tugged her over to him. “Come on chica, join the party!”

Clarke smiled but shook her head, ducking out from under his arm. “I think I’ll just head to bed.”

Enriq nodded, his expression turning serious as he reached out to snatch two cups from a passing saint. She snarled at him halfheartedly but Enriq ignored her in favour of passing one cup off to Clarke. ‘For Trent,” He explained, raising the cup in toast. “May we meet again.”

“May we meet again.” Clarke repeated. The moonshine burned all the way down and it felt like goodbye.

 

* * *

 

She’d just made it back to her room with enough time to wave hello to Charlotte and shuck her father’s jacket when the radio still clipped to her bra made a little static buzz.

“Who’s that?” Charlotte asked as Clarke fished it out, tuning until the channel cleared

“Hello?”

“ _I need you at Arrow station_ ,” Rachel’s voice came through tinny and strained.

“Now?” It was almost one in the morning. It didn’t seem possible that the Floaters could have another plan worked out so soon after the Saints had crushed their smash and grab.

“ _Just you_.” Rachel added before Clarke could ask if she should grab Shumway. There was the sound of a sharp crack through the radio.

“What was that?”

“ _Nothing. Come to unit 71_.”

The radio clicked off. Clarke replaced it and gave Charlotte a shrug and a grin, reaching out to snag her coat. “No rest for the wicked. Get some sleep, I’ll be back before morning.”

“Don’t get killed!” The girl called after her.

 

* * *

 

Clarke watched the door to unit 71 from the end of the hallway. No one came or went; she hadn’t seen a soul in the ten minutes she had been standing there. She hadn’t seen anyone since the lift let her off at this level of Arrow. It was shift change and there should have been people around and Clarke was nervous. She adjusted the gun in her hand, keeping her finger right on the trigger guard.

Which came in handy when she touched the control panel on the door and it hissed open to reveal the grin of a Floater who’d been hiding behind it. “We’ve been waiting for you.” He said. Or at least he tried to say it. The words were cut off when Clarke put two bullets in his chest.

There were two more Floaters in the room behind him. Rather than turning to run, Clarke stepped forward and caught the dead Floaters’ weight before he could fall, hefting him like a human shield and firing over his shoulder. One of them went down, but she only managed to wing the other before the impact of bullets into the corpse became too much and she had to drop him, diving for the nearest door.

Raising her gun again she shot out the control panel and the door slid closed just before two bullets blew through it. “We’ll bury you with Lem, bitch!” The Floater screamed.

Clarke didn’t waste her breath shouting back.

Unit 71 wasn’t a residential space. It was meant for recreation, but had been converted into manufacturing, which left one large room with lots of stuff and equipment to hide behind. Fortunately, it also meant that there was likely to be more than one exit. She just had to reach it before the Floaters cut her off.

Clarke heart pounded as she slammed a new magazine into her gun. Rachel had been found out.  She might already be dead.

Clarke dashed from cover to cover across the room, watching the shadows for any Floaters that might have been lying in wait and trying to listen under the sound of screamed invictives from the hallway. The back of the room offered two doors. One back out to Arrow station and the other into the storeroom that was now a warehouse supervisor’s office.

Through it she could hear the sound of something scraping against the floor and a muffled groan.

Clarke hit the release for the office door and brought her gun up.

“Rachel?”

She swept the room but one glance told Clarke why the Floaters wouldn’t have bothered setting guards. Rachel was tied to a chair, her clothing hanging off her in shreds and stained with blood. Her face was one massive mess of bruising. “Oh fuck, Rachel.”

“No,” The words came out awkwardly around bruised lips. “Ah, no. I hoped you weren’t coming.”

“Of course I came,” Clarke’s voice came out high and a little hysterical, even as she aimed for reassuring. She shoved the gun into the back of her waistband and bent to unbind Rachel’s feet. “Saints don’t leave each other behind, right?”

“Not even when they should.”

The voice came from behind her, male and mocking but Clarke didn’t manage to see more than a blue coat before the bat hit her and the world went black.

 

* * *

 

Rachel’s voice, weak and rasping and cursing the air blue, roused Clarke.

“….You better not be fucking dead. If those asshole tossed your ass in here with me and you’re a fucking corpse I – I… Wake the fuck up!”

Clarke groaned, tried to reach a hand up to touch the swelling she could feel on her head and cracked her knuckles against metal. “What the hell?”

“Oh good,” Rachel laughed and it sounded like a wheeze. “Now we can die together.”

“Rachel are you okay?” It was pitch dark and they were standing, half slumped, chest to chest in a space so narrow Clarke couldn’t raise her arms more than a few inches outward in any direction. “Where are we?”

“No I’m not okay,” Rachel kicked her and then made a wounded sound at the impact. “They stuck us in a fucking vent room.”

Clarke’s stomach dropped.

Vent rooms were small spaces off airlocks, used to equalize pressure and deliver oxygen to the chamber when allowing someone back into the station. And, alternatively, used to slowly leach out the atmosphere when opening the airlock into space. They were going to be floated without the mercy of a quick end in the vacuum of space. They were going to be slowly suffocated in the dark.

She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Rachel kicked her again. Clarke felt the shift as her foot lashed out a third time but instead of hitting her it connected with the wall and Rachel grunted in triumph at the sound of creaking metal. “Don’t just stand there. Help me!”

It was meant to be a command but ringing off the metal of their coffin it sounded like a plea. “Okay,” Clarke whispered. “Alright.”

Shifting as much as she could, Clarke braced herself on the far wall and brought her knee up. She kicked back a hard as she could, feeling the plate give a little. “Rachel…”

“No,” Her voice was edging into hysterical. “There are air pipes. These vents feed air in. Tor told me!” She coughed and something warm and wet splattered Clarke’s cheek. She didn’t need to see to recognize the tacky feeling of blood.

Clarke cast about mentally for something she could pull off to staunch the bleeding when there wasn’t enough space to shuck her jacket, when she realized that though the Floaters had taken her gun and the shiv she’d taken to keeping in her boot, she was still dressed and she could feel the small square shape of the radio clipped to her bra. Squirming to get her hands up, Clarke brushed against Rachel’s side, her fingers skating over skin that was bumpy and wet. Rachel sobbed in agony.

“Sorry,” Clarke whispered. “Sorry, sorry. It’s going to be okay though. It’s going to be fine.”

She tapped the radio, searching for a signal. “Hello? Please is anyone there?” only static and silence. Clarke kicked backwards again, panic lending frantic strength as she shouted. “Hello!?”

There was another beat of silence before. “ _What the fuck, Princess?”_

“Bellamy! Bellamy help!”

“ _What’s wrong_?” The sleepy gravel was gone from his voice in an instant. _“Princess where are you?”_

“A vent room.” Bellamy swore and for a moment the urge to kick and scream and fight like a trapped animal was almost overwhelming; then Rachel coughed, wet and pained, bringing Clarke back to herself. “The Floaters found out Rachel was a spy and used her to get me. She’s in bad shape, but there’s no light, I don’t know how bad.”

“ _Where are you_?”

Clarke opened her mouth and then closed it. They could be on any level. On any station. Anywhere on the Ark with an airlock.

“Arrow,” Rachel wheezed. “Level seven.”

“ _I’m on my way,”_ through the radio Clarke could hear Bellamy’s drumming footsteps as he ran. “ _Keep talking to me._ ”

“Kick.” Rachel said again and Clarke nodded even though she couldn’t see, slamming her foot back.

“Rachel thinks we can break through to the maintenance space,” She narrated. “I can feel the panel shifting but I’ve got no leverage.”

“Keep going.” Rachel and Bellamy said at the same time. He was murmuring encouragement as he ran but Clarke tuned him out. Focused on Rachel’s breathing and the shift of metal against her heel, she kicked with renewed vigor. The poorly sealed plating shifted and bounced, then gave under the impact. A dim glow from dozens of little machine lights seeped into the space.

“I got it.” She breathed, pulling back into the new space so she could examine Rachel properly. The bruising was still obvious but now that Rachel was standing Clarke could see her dislocated shoulder and the distention on the side of her rib cage that meant they were badly broken. The blood in Rachel’s mouth wasn’t coming from a cut, her ribs had punctured a lung and she was drowning in her own blood.

“Bellamy, you have to hurry,” She said mindlessly. Reaching out as though she could push everything back into place and it would all be healed. “Rachel needs help.”

 _“I’m coming,”_ He was panting now. “ _Focus on the air.”_

“The tubes,” Rachel tried to point with her good arm, sliding down to the now wider space of floor. “Look for the one marked internal atmosphere. There’ll be a dial showing the pressure of the airflow.”

“Don’t sit,” Clarke reached out to lever her down. “You’ll make your ribs worse and that will speed up the bleeding.”

She heard Bellamy repeat the word _bleeding_ and curse through the radio but she was more focused on wadding up her jacket to pillow Rachel’s head.

“I’m fine,” Rachel smiled with bloody teeth. “I’m tougher than I look. Get the atmo line.”

The hum of powering machinery filled the air, somewhere a heavy fan kicked on. “They’re opening the airlock.” Clarke said faintly.

“Hurry.” Rachel insisted. Bellamy was shouting.

The tubes that held piped in the airflow were thick and only semi-flexible. Sealed with metal valves at intervals. Lacking anything to slice into the surface, Clarke stood, wrapped both hands around it firmly and dropped with all her weight. The valve held for an instant and then ripped free. The end of the pipe hissed with escaping air and it was the most beautiful sound Clarke had ever heard.

“I got it!”

Through the radio Bellamy groaned in relief. “ _Good, Princess_.”

“Check the pressure.” Rachel reminded her.

Clarke squinted at the small dial in the dim light. “The needle is dropping. What does that mean?”

“There’s,” Rachel sucked in an agonized breath before she could continue. “There isn’t enough air pressure to fill this whole space. Put the tube to your mouth.”

“Okay,” Clarke readjusted so she was sitting, her mouth just high enough to reach the end of the hose. “This is going to hurt, but I’m going to lift you up and brace you against me so we can share.” She tugged Rachel’s head into her lap.

“No.”

“I know it’s going to suck, but there’s no other way. I’ll fix your ribs after, I promise but first we have to live through this.”

Rachel shook her head weakly. “I can’t.”

“The hose won’t reach you down there Rachel, you have to get up!”

“It’s too late,” There was a bubbling sound in her breath now as she wheezed between each word. “I’m a gonner, Blondie. I can see it in your face.”

“No,” Clarke insisted. She couldn’t catch her breath to yell. “We are both getting out of this.”

“Just you,” Rachel’s lips twitched, but she couldn’t quite manage a smile. “I betrayed you. Got you caught. It’s only fair.”

“No, no you didn’t, you didn’t,” Clarke smoothed a hand over her brow. “You have to live. Your daughter needs you.”

“She has Tor. She knows I love her. Breathe Blondie, breathe.”

Clarke shook her head, but her lungs were screaming and she did as she was told. The air tasted bitter and full of chemicals.

Rachel drew in one long, hard won breath and began to hum. Halting and strange and soothing. The sound bounced off the metal walls of their prison and grew louder and more resonant until the last note sputtered away on a shaky exhale.

Clarke waited, her hands still soothing over Rachel’s brow, the wetness on her face no longer just blood.

She breathed.

Eventually the fan ground to a halt, the electronic whine fell silent and after a few heavy blows the side of the vent room pulled back. Clarke was blinded for a moment and then Bellamy was there. His hair unslicked and falling in tousled curls, his face devastated.

“Help me get her out?” He nodded and reached in to pick up Rachel’s body. Her ribs cracked and he flinched like he’d been struck. Clarke eased Rachel’s head and shoulders free so they wouldn’t hit the walls when he lifted her before crawling out herself.

There were two dead Floaters on the floor in front of the airlock. Clarke stared at them for a moment and then at her own reflection in the glass of the airlock door. She was shaking and sickly pale, her face was splattered with blood and cut with tear tracks. She turned back to Bellamy, carrying the body of his friend, of her friend. “It’s not enough.”

He didn’t have to ask what she meant; Bellamy just cradled Rachel more closely. “Not nearly.”

 

* * *

 

The Saints knew what happened before Bellamy and Clarke made it back to Factory station.

They’d been broadcasting across the open channel after all. Bellamy was the first to respond but their panicked shouting had eventually woken others and the Saints turned out to clear the halls back to the church and pay their respects to their fallen Lieutenant.

When Bellamy laid Rachel out on the table before Shumway there was a man standing next to him who looked as though his world had cracked down the middle. Tor, Clarke assumed. She was grateful he hadn’t brought their daughter. Her last memory of her mother should be something better than bleeding and broken.

Tor bent over Rachel and kissed her forehead as Shumway recited the blessing. There was silence through the church for a long moment.

“The Floaters need to pay!”

And then came the anger.

“Yo, we can’t let them do this to us.”

“They’ll _all_ die.”

“We should march on Arrow right now! Kill every fucker wearing blue.”

“No!” Clarke’s voice rang out over the crowd without her consciously deciding to speak. “We don’t know what Rachel told them.”

“She wouldn’t have said shit!”

“They got Lemkin to flip on her, didn’t they?”

“Dammit,” Clarke turned to Bellamy who was already looking at her. “What do I say?” She asked under her breath.

“Do you have a plan?” He murmured back.

One was quickly taking shape in her mind. “Yes.”

Bellamy nodded and turned to face the assembled crowd. “The Floaters beat Rachel to death and got one fucking name!” He shouted. “I’d like to see any of you do better. She was a Saint from blood in to blood out and we need to honor her for it,” Angry muttering had ceased. The room was quiet, watching. “The Floaters think that they can hurt our people and we won’t strike back. They think they have us running scared but they’re wrong! We’re the god damn Saints; we look after our own and we are _not to be fucked with!_ ” A chorus of voices cheered in triumph. Bellamy had them hanging on his every word. “But that means we need to be smart about this. We need a plan.”

He didn’t have to look at her for Clarke to know a cue when she heard one. She stepped forward, just in front of Bellamy so that she could see the Saints and they could see her. “If we go charging after the Floaters they’ll dig in and we’ll lose people. To wipe them out we need to take down their leader, “

“Hell yes!” Someone shouted from the rear of the room.

“We need volunteers for a round the clock watch on the Floaters,” Clarke continued. ”Find out where their lieutenants live, who gives them orders, then we make damn sure he understands what floating really means. Who’s in?” A forest of fists shot into the air. Saints crowded forward, wanting to offer their help.

From the corner of her eye she saw Bellamy look at Shumway and Clarke caught the expression on their leader’s face; something between thoughtful and sour. He didn’t like her taking charge like this. She stepped back, turning to face him and trying to look deferential even though she didn’t feel it. “Who should go where, Shumway?”  

He started her down for a moment before he offered the slightest of nods. “Good plan, kid. Glad you’re safe.”

 

* * *

 

In the end no one could stop the Saints and the Floaters from skirmishing wherever they ran into one another, but that made it easier for those not flying colours to slip about in Floaters territory without attracting attention.

It only took a few days before Shas and one of Bellamy’s boys – Atom, Clarke was pretty sure – came to her with two names and a schedule to plan around.

The Floaters leadership was primarily handled by a man named Ricky Shaw; he gave the orders, ran the gangers and doled out punishments. But Ricky got directions from the man at the top. The head of the Floaters, who kept their books, their plans and the guards off their backs. The Floaters called him Xavier, but that wasn’t a name that came up on a housing search and no one knew where to find him except Ricky.

Fortunately Ricky Shaw was predictable.

Clarke presented the schedule to Shumway already knowing where he’d tell them to hit. Every Friday night after he dropped off the take Ricky rolled down to an illegal bar on the lower levels of Arrow, where it connected with Factory and Agro stations. The kind of place where the guards didn’t look to closely and women did whatever they needed to for extra ration tickets. Not the kind of place you’d bring too many bodyguards.

She hadn’t expected Shumway to have them infiltrate the club.

Clarke and her sunny blonde waves was deemed too distinctive, so she was with Shumway, Bellamy and a group of heavies at the club’s back entrance waiting for the women impersonating staff members to bundle Ricky out to them.

The door burst open, Shas and another girl appeared. They were wearing what amounted to strategically placed bandages and dragging an unconscious Ricky between them. He had a black eye and from the way one hand was twisted at least two of his fingers were broken. Clarke raised an eyebrow at the redheaded girl who just shrugged. “He got handsy.” Shas high-fived her.

“Nice.” One of the heavies agreed, but he was looking at their bodies rather than their handiwork.

Bellamy smacked him hard across the back of the head and gave the girls a smile that was somehow both charming and obscene. “Ladies.” The redhead giggled but Shas rolled her eyes right along with Clarke.

“Alright that’s enough,” Shumway cut them all off. “You girls make sure that Shaw’s crew don’t cause any trouble for the bar or the ladies. And that they don’t make it back to the Floaters. The rest of us,” His smile was a knife in the dark when he turned back to them. “We’re headed to waste processing.”

 

* * *

 

They didn’t burn trash on the Ark; they couldn’t afford to waste the resources. Everything that could be reused was reused. And after sorting any scrap metal went into the compactor, where it was crushed down into small bars and heated to form new ingots for Mecha and Factory.

Ricky Shaw was about to become a lot more dense and really well done.

Clarke forced herself to remain impassive and not look away. She had become inured to killing fairly quickly and she found the rush of combat was actually pretty fun. Torture, however, was making her queasy. From the way the muscle in Bellamy’s jaw was jumping in her peripheral vision, he wasn’t enjoying it either.

Shumway seemed to be in his element.

“Tell us where he is, Shaw.”

“Fuck you!” The man shouted, the sound transforming into a scream as the compactor crushed in just that much further. Random bits of metal slowly slicing and stabbing into his body.

“No one’s coming for you Shaw. No one will know you’re gone for days and I can make this last a long, long time,” Shumway flicked a different dial on the control box he was holding and the smell of burning filled the air as the heat flicked up. “Tell me and it all stops.”

“I can’t, I can’t,” Shaw protested around screams of agony. “He’ll kill my family.”

“He’ll kill them anyway when you don’t come back,” Shumway switched the heat up another notch. “We can get to him first. Then they’ll be protected.” He let Shaw thrash and shriek for a moment before the heat went back down.

“No, please. I can’t!”

The crusher hummed back to life. “You _can_ Ricky.”

“He lives on Arrow!” Shaw howled. “Tenth level, right where it joins Alpha.”

“What number?”

“I don’t know,” Something popped and it wasn’t metal. Shaw’s screaming went higher in pitch. “I don’t, we meet in his office! On Prison station!” he panted. “ _Unit 46, level 3!”_

“Is that where he keeps the books?”

“Yes, they’re in his office. Hidden drawer in the desk!”

The screaming cut off abruptly. Shaw had been so loud that Clarke didn’t even register the gunshot until she saw Bellamy lower the weapon.

Shumway spun around, looking annoyed. “The fuck was that Blake?”

“You got what you needed,” Bellamy shrugged. “And he was grating my last nerve.”

Shumway snorted in disgust, jerking the compactor up to full power and leaving it to finish its gristly job. “Next time,” he said low and dangerous as he shouldered past Bellamy. “You wait your ass until I give the word.”

 

* * *

 

Bellamy was still in the doghouse with Shumway by the time they were ready to move the following night. Salujah was leading the raid on the Floaters’ Arrow station territory with the bulk of the Saints while Shumway, Clarke and a smaller team shot through to Xavier’s office in Prison station.

She’d been expecting to kick the door down, guns blazing but instead they knocked – careful to leave Clarke the only one visible through the peephole that had been illegally installed on the door, of course.  When no one answered Shumway had Koster pop the lock.

It wasn’t until they stepped into the office that Clarke put together their location and the view of the multi-level Skybox offered through the window. “Is he the _warden_?” She asked, incredulous.

Shumway flipped on the computer and began trying to crack the password. “Warden’s office is on the ground floor,” He said. “Bet this fucker has some cushy admin job. Just close enough to the box that he can set up anyone leaving for a little Floaters recruitment pitch.”

Koster whistled, low and a little impressed as he settled himself half in and half out of the doorway to keep an eye on the hall.

Clarke turned her attention to the desk. “Secret drawer, secret drawer” She muttered, gliding her fingers over the corners and under the lip. “Where are you secret drawer?” She found the small catch just inside the lid of the top tray.

There was a click and a thunk, and what had looked like a plain panel slid open to reveal a thick book covered in faded blue imitation leather.

Xavier’s ledger was made of actual paper. Clarke retrieved it with reverent hands, careful only to touch the corners of the pages. The paper had obviously been erased and rewritten at some point; palimpsest textures making the neat hand nearly illegible in places.

“This is their whole organization,” Clarke marveled as she paged through the book. “The guards they were bribing, the deliveries they were skimming off of. There’s even a list of members. Why would he write that down?”

“He’s either compulsive or paranoid,” Shumway took back the ledger and started copying parts of it into his tablet.

“What are you doing?

“Some of this we can use,” Clarke craned her neck to read over his shoulder but Shumway was transcribing into some kind of coded shorthand. “The dirty guards can be blackmailed or convinced to see our side of things and supply line details always come in handy.” He finished what he was writing and pulled out a heavy marker, dragging it in thick streaks across the page to hide the information he wanted for himself.

It made Clarke want to cry a little.

Koster jerked back inside, closing the door as gently as possible behind him. “Incoming.”

He took up position on one side of the door, with Clarke on the other where they could get behind Xavier just as he came through. Shumway settled into the man’s chair and put his feet up nonchalantly on the desk.

It was almost like a farce the way Xavier stormed in, distracted and then visibly flinched when he caught sight of Shumway. Koster stepped in behind him, closing and locking the office door in one smooth motion. “Gentlemen,” Xavier attempted a recovery, couldn’t suppress the sweat that was beading on his temples when he took in Koster and Clarke. “And lady. I assume you’re here on business.”

Shumway snorted. “Yeah, hostile takeover.”

“I see where you’re coming from,” Xavier prevaricated. “But I have to tell you I think it’s short sighted. The network that the Floaters have built is far reaching and very valuable. Put together with the might of the Saints –“ He cut off when Shumway nodded and Clarke pressed her gun against the back of his head.

“Shut the fuck up,” She said slowly and with great violence.

“My dear, don’t be hasty. I’m sure your – commander? – sees the advantages someone like me could bring to your organization.”

“Any chance of a deal you had was gone when your man gave up your ledger.” Shumway smacked the book against the desk for emphasis. “We don’t give a fuck what you’re offering.”

“Shaw,” Xavier hissed. “I’ll make him pay.”

“You won’t be around to make anyone do anything; but don't worry, we took care of that internal affairs problem.” Shumway straightened and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers. “You shouldn’t have taken out my girl like that.”

“You shouldn’t have sent that bitch in,” Xavier protested. “That was business! You would have done the same.”

With a cry of inarticulate rage, Clarke pulled back and slammed the butt of her gun into his skull. “Her name was Rachel, motherfucker!” Xavier collapsed to the ground his hands coming up in surrender as she pressed the weapon to his forehead. “Rachel! Say it!”

“”Alright, alright, Rachel!” He looked over at Shumway. “Call off your dog.”

“Kid, “ Shumway admonished. Clarke’s finger tightened on the trigger for a moment before she gave in and stepped back.

Xavier took a deep breath and straightened his jacket as best he could in such a prone position. “I’m glad to see you can be reasonable-“

Shumway drew his gun and put a round between Xavier’s eyes in the time it took for him to say the last word.

The man slumped, all his arrogance and his cruelty extinguished in a loud noise and a spray of blood. Clarke looked at the body for a stunned moment. Then drew a deep breath and sneered “What a _dick_.”

They all chuckled. Koster’s hand fell softly on Clarke’s back and she leaned in to it, just for a moment. “You should have let her do it, Shumway.” He admonished.

Shumway’s lip curled in displeasure. “It’s done. That what matters.” Seizing the book off the desk he aimed a kick at what was left of Xavier. “Now help me get him up.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning when Thelonious Jaha exited his housing unit to begin the day, the former leader of the Floaters was sitting across the hall with a bullet hole in his forehead and his ledger in his lap. The Chancellor was furious but Wells was oddly nonplussed.

Really he was just glad to know Clarke was still alive.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 


	2. Habeo Sororem

 

 

Clarke woke with the satisfaction of a job well done.

At loose ends now that the last Floaters were being run down by the guard, Clarke went to the other Saints in search of work. Then realized she’d trapped herself when everyone just pointed her towards the room where Bellamy held court.

Atom raised an eyebrow when she appeared at the door but banged on it anyway; shouting “Volunteer to kill some Kings for you,” and tagging it open when Bellamy shouted.

“Send them in.”

Bellamy was lounging with his feet up on the desk, tapping away at a tablet. Murphy, standing at his shoulder, saw Clarke first and his responding “Oh no, not _you_ ,” turned any nerves she had into indignation.

“The glorious heroine graces us with her presence,” Bellamy tipped his chin, gesturing for her to sit. “Shumway not have any projects for the golden child? Or did you piss him off too?” He smirked at her. “I hear he wouldn’t let you kill Xavier.”

Clarke scowled at him, her cheeks hot. “I came because everyone says you need _help_.” She stressed the last word, pleased with the flash of irritation on his face. “Or did Shumway give the Kings to Salujah since you don’t seem to have gotten anywhere?”

“Shit, she couldn’t handle this and she knows it. Smart people know their limits.” He said pointedly.

“And yours are?”

“I don’t have limits, Princess.”

Clarke fixed him with a deadpan stare and didn’t speak.

Bellamy cracked first. “We’re going after Matteo Green,” He explained. “He’s the man Shumway ran with before the Saints. So, you know, not just a spacewalk over here. The Kings run all the vice on the Ark. Drugs, booze, gambling, everything. Taking them down is going to bring a lot of heat on us.”

“So we, what? Take over their operations without destroying them so that no one fights back too hard?”

Bellamy didn’t so much roll his eyes as his whole face. “Way to suck all the fun out of it.”

“Hey,” Clarke protested. “I’m fun.”

He snorted but Atom’s knocking prevented him from saying anything else.  “What the fuck is it now?”

“It’s Roma.”

Bellamy yanked his feet off the desk and straightened just as a tall, pretty girl sauntered in, long hair swinging in time with her hips. “Roma,” He drew the name out. “What a pleasant fucking surprise.”

Roma crossed her arms over her chest, posture instantly defensive. “Blake don’t you start that shit with me.”

“I’m just stunned to see you back in our little – what did you call it? – dank fucking hellhole.”

**“** It's always the same thing with you."

"Oh, here we go." Bellamy was standing now. Behind him, Murphy was edging along the wall out of range. Clarke wondered if she should start doing the same.

"What did you expect me to do? Say no when Agro offered me the apprenticeship?"

"No, but I expected you not to abandon us."

"Oh, fuck you Bellamy!" Roma stepped close enough to slam both hands down on the desk.

"Fuck me? Fuck you! The only time you remember who we are is when you want something." Roma disengaged from their staring contest with a sigh. Clarke suspected that he’d gotten a little closer to the root of the issue than she wanted.

"Look, if you're willing to help me, help me,” Roma held up a finger to forestall any comment when Bellamy opened his mouth. “But don't you dare try to hold it over me."

He closed his mouth again, the muscle in his jaw jumping. "Fine."

"Fine."

"Fine." Bellamy flopped back into his chair. Relaxing, Roma turned to find her own seat and seemed surprised to find Clarke there.

“Hey,” She looked a little sheepish. “You new? I don’t remember seeing you around before.”

“Like you’d know.”

“Bellamy!” He raised his hands in surrender when Roma whipped back around to glare.

“So, what do you need from us plebeians?”

Without a fight forthcoming, Roma seemed to draw inward. She shifted, awkwardly, rubbing her palms over her arms. “I’m not part of the gang, but just about everyone on Agro station is connected to the Kings one way or another. It’s no secret that they run the moonshine stills. The Kings take what they need off the top and they extort us to stay quiet and fill up the difference. It’s a pain, but it’s fine. Or it was,” Her expression was uncomfortable and Clarke realized that Roma was scared. “Lately the lady the Kings have running their brothels – Zoe – she’s been coming around recruiting.”

“So?” Murphy scoffed from his corner. “You don’t want to give it up for ration tickets, then don’t.”

Bellamy quelled him with a dark look but Roma crumpled. “She’s not giving us a choice. Either we work there too or we lose our jobs on the stills and no one else on Agro will hire us because we’ll be blacklisted by the Kings!”

Clarke reached out hesitantly but Bellamy beat her to it, hopping his desk to sit on closer edge where to put his hands on Roma’s shoulders. “Hey,” He said softly. “It’s alright. We’ll take care of this.”

Bellamy caught Clarke’s eye and withdrew, looking embarrassed by his own show of sympathy. Clarke waved her hands at Roma’s still bent back; trying to insist through gestures that machismo should not be an obstacle to comforting a scared girl.  He rolled his face again but his voice remained reassuring. “Call in sick today and don’t let anyone give you shit for it. By tomorrow you’ll be working for the Saints.”

Roma straightened, blinking away the tears shining in her eyes. “Thanks Bellamy.”

He shrugged, affecting nonchalance as he stepped back. “We were going to take that place over anyway.”

Roma looked irritated at the dismissal but more solid than she had before, and she took her cue to leave when Bellamy pointed to Clarke and Murphy. “Get strapped and get a crew together. Let’s take this shit while we can still help some people.”

 

* * *

 

Shumway seemed pleased by the idea, but wary enough to send half the Saints along at their backs. Bellamy scoffed and complained about making it too easy and, as they strolled casually through the stills level of Agro, Clarke had to admit she could kind of see his point.

The stills were really just a series of warehouse units filled with products and equipment. With the boilers and all the alcohol there was a constant threat of fire, which prevented anyone from bringing guns down here. Just a small crew would have turned the raid into an adrenaline fueled game of hide and seek amid the machinery, but there were so many Saints that the Kings on guard never stood a chance. They couldn’t even hide because the scared and angry workers were perfectly willing to rat them out.

By the time Bellamy was shouting out orders for watch shifts, Clarke had charmed a few of the still employees into breaking out the stash of moonshine they’d been skimming for the Kings and everyone not on duty was in favor of a little celebration.

“See,” She said to herself. “I’m fun.”

Fun or not Clarke didn’t get to enjoy it. While she’d been talking Bellamy had put her on first watch and disappeared before she could protest. Between sentry duty and clean up Clarke stayed until early evening, making sure that any civilians working the night shift heard about their new management.

One of the girls began crying, fat ugly tears of relief when she found out she didn’t have to work the brothels. Clarke drew her aside and patted her shoulder awkwardly, trying to be comforting and really just wishing she would stop. “It’s alright,” She soothed, or at least tried to sooth. “We’re going to kill her and you’ll never have to work anywhere you don’t want to.”

The gob-smacked look on the teary girl’s face told Clarke she’d missed reassuring by a mile. The girl squeaked her thanks and scuttled off as quickly as she could.

Clarke took it as a sign that she needed to go home.

She waved her goodbyes to the new Saints on guard shift and headed back. She was considering hitting the unguarded caf on Factory before bed when her radio hissed and Salujah’s husky voice poured through.

“ _I don’t know who spilled or what’s going on but there are guards sweeping all the territory we took from the Floaters and heading towards Factory. Everyone needs to get out of there. Get out of the halls and back to the church_.”

There was the buzz if static then a click and Shumway said. “ _Hold on, who’s_ -“ he cut off. Clarke hesitated with her finger over the lift buttons. “ _Those motherfuckers,” He didn’t sound surprised, just resigned. “Change of plans; The Kings are using the guard sweep to try and take back the Stills. Who’s close?”_

“I am,” She punched the button sending her back the way she’d come. “On my way.”

“ _Where the fuck is Blake_?”

“ _With Roma_ ,” Red chimed in before Clarke could cover for him.

“ _Fucking great.  Kid, you better get your ass over there and help our boys. You’re the only back up they’re getting_.”

“On it, Shumway.” Clarke checked her gun was loaded and counted up her extra ammo as the doors dinged open to the sound of gunfire. Her radio was chattering with an argument; Shumway tearing Red and Bellamy a collective new one. Clarke smirked to herself, and then clicked it off before it could give away her position.

The Saints were putting up a good fight, more able to use guns from where they were entrenched with their backs to the stills. But this had been Kings territory for a long time and they were using the environment to their advantage, sliding in and out of cover that Clarke would have missed at a glance.

She hit their unprotected backs like a very precise wrecking ball.

So close to the flammable stills she couldn’t afford to be careless with her bullets so Clarke went for easy shots to center mass. “Sky Saints!” She shouted, ducking back around the corner to avoid the return fire.

“Fuck the Kings!” The crew answered back, punctuating with a hail of bullets.

Caught between them, the Kings panicked and stopped thinking tactically, making it easy to pick them off as they rushed out of cover; trying to overwhelm the Saints fortified at the door get away from Clarke. Caught in the crossfire even a big group didn’t last long.

The gunfire slowed, then stopped. Clarke stepped out of cover to finish off one last straggler and check them for anything useful when she heard a Saint shout “Duck boss!” And dropped without thinking into a roll.

She came up aiming at two Kings, late to the party or sneaky enough to have gotten behind her. One had some kind of automatic weapon, spraying bullets down the hallway, with no thought to what she might hit; the other had his gun pointed right at Clarke’s head. She fired first, no hesitation.

Her gun clicked, empty.

A nasty smile spread over the King’s face and he stepped close enough to press the barrel between her eyes. “Got you now.”

The shot rang out and Clarke didn’t realize she’d squeezed her eyes shut until she opened them to see Bellamy firing again before the King could swing his gun around. He looked down at her, inventorying the damage, then offered Clarke a hand. “Watch your ammo next time, Princess.”

“Yeah,” Clarke said faintly, tugging a new clip from her pocket with hands that she would not admit were shaking a little. “Thanks.”

“I should have been here anyway,” He shrugged. “But now that I am, we’ve got a job to do.”

Clarke nodded, falling into step with him. The Saints left behind were pulling themselves out of cover and refortifying their position, stripping the dead Kings of ammo or useful weapons. Reinforcements would be arriving soon.

“According to what we got out of Roma and the people working the stills: Zoe, that bitch who was pressganging girls to start selling, she’s Grus’s little piece,” Bellamy explained, checking the corridors as they walked. Clarke kept her gun out, pointed towards the deck but ready. “Now that hasn’t ever stopped him from sniffing after any woman he can intimidate onto her knees and I guess Zoe got a little tired of it because she’s been fucking Morgan – the girl who runs the King’s numbers - whenever his back is turned.”

“We can drive a wedge there.”

“You read my mind Princess.” He smirked at her. “Better than that. I know where she holes up. And with the Kings running back to Green all tails between their legs I’m willing to bet she’s not guarded.”

Bellamy led them through to a part of Agro station called the silo which was mostly used as lab space for the biochemists. All the hallways leading to the unit doors circled the outer edge of the silo while its core was hollow, ringed in balconies looking out onto a shaft of open space.

The unit that had been taken over for Zoe’s newest enterprise was on the third floor and looked almost deserted. There was only one guard on the door and he collapsed with one of Bellamy’s bullets in his brain before he even knew they were there.

"I got a good feeling about this, Princess. I think it'll be a nice bonding experience” He smirked at Clarke. “If you can keep up with me in there."

“Oh bring it on.” Clarke scoffed, shoving past him so she could be the first one through the door.

 

* * *

 

With the element of surprise they cleared the outer rooms easily. Bursting into the supervisor’s office to find a woman standing at the balcony rail, looking completely unconcerned that they were there.

 It wasn’t easy to dress over the top on the Ark - where everything was made for function and comfort - but she was certainly trying her best; clad in just a bra under a cropped jacket that has been sewn with slivers of metal to catch the light, paired with a skirt that might have started life as a bandeau. Her black hair was short and bobbed, and her earrings were enormous.

"How 'bout you drop the guns, sweethearts?" She drawled.

Clarke saw Bellamy inhale for a rant but before he could speak a voice behind them interrupted. "If I were you, I'd listen to the lady."

He deflated with an angry curse. "Well of course you would, you being her bitch."

Disgraced Lt Grus - formerly of the guards and now relieved of his position for taking bribes - stepped out of where he’d been hiding in the shadows and jabbed Bellamy in the back with a gun barrel so over-long Clarke was sure he had to be compensating for something. "Watch your fuckin' mouth."

Bellamy raised his hands, gangling his pistol from one finger. "Hey, take it easy." Grus snatched Clarke’s gun first, tossing it to Zoe before relieving Bellamy of his weapon.

Zoe looked them over with a bored expression. "They packing anything else?” 

“There’s a dental dam in my pocket,” Clarke interrupted with a shrug. “I was hoping to see if all that practice with Morgan made Zoe here good with her mouth.”

There was a shocked silence as everyone in the room turned to her with identical goggle-eyed looks. Bellamy burst out laughing.

Her skull exploded with pain and then Clarke was on the floor. Grus had hit her over the back of the head with Bellamy’s pistol. Struggling back up to sit back on her haunches she raised her eyebrows at Bellamy. “Guess I hit a nerve.” Another hysterical noise slipped out of his pursed lips.

Grus snarled in irritation. "Do yourself a favor and shut the fuck up. You Saint assholes think you’re so smart. Well, we’re not impressed. The only reason you got as far as you did was 'cause Green let you. And now the guards are gonna finish you fuckers off for good, just like we planned

"So her stupid ass losing the stills was all part of your plan?" Bellamy taunted. “Brilliant.”

“Hey!” Zoe put her hands on her hips, her glare flicking between him and Grus. "Are you gonna let him talk about me like-"

"Don't worry baby,” Grus waved her off. “I got this."

"Yeah Zoe, shut the fuck up."

Grus loomed over him, all muscle and glower. "I thought I told you to be quiet." It probably would have been more effective if Bellamy hadn’t been almost as tall and just as willing to get right in his face.

"I’ve got shitty hearing."

He screamed as Grus shot him in the leg with his own gun. "Now you got a shitty leg.” Grus taunted.

Bellamy landed heavily, half across Clarke’s shoulder. His hands clamped to the wound as he hissed in agony. She scrambled up, batting at his fingers. “Let me see, let me see it.”

He lifted his hands for a moment. Blood welled up fast, but not with the same gush it would have if the shot had hit an artery. It seemed like the bullet had gone neatly through the meat of his thigh. Clarke sighed with relief. “You’re fine. Don’t be a wuss.” She ripped the purple band from around her arm and started wrapping the wound.

“Hey,” Grus shoved the back of Clarke’s head with the butt of his gun, pressing on the bruise that was already forming. “Back the fuck up.”

She hissed at the contact but before she could shift away Bellamy arched in in pain, grabbing at her shirt. He dragged Clarke close enough to whisper and his voice was calm and serious. “Go to my unit,” He said in her ear. “Tell my mother _'Augustus had a sister'_ ”

“What?”

“Just do it.” He shouted, pushing her back and flipping over to shove a knife right through the top of Grus’ foot. "Run!"

Clarke scrambled to her feet. Torn for a moment between obedience and jumping back into the fray to help. Then Zoe pulled out a shotgun and Bellamy screamed “Go now!”

Clarke felt the force of the shotgun blast barely sting along her arm as she threw herself off the balcony.

Three stories down she hit the deck plates hard and rolled a few times before she could scramble up and out of the way of another shot. She sprinted the whole way back to Factory station

 

* * *

 

 

Her lungs were burning by the time she made it to the church and it took Clarke a few minutes of heaving in air before she could even explain to Shumway what had happened.

He cursed and kicked at chairs and called Clarke six kinds of idiot before he banished her to recover while he contacted Green about hostage negotiations and the Lieutenants came up with a plan.

Atom was waiting for her when she slunk out. “Was he still alive?”

She nodded. “He bought me time to run.”

That seemed to be enough for the boy. “Then he’ll stay alive till you can rescue him. I’ll tell the crew, we’ll be ready when you need us.”

Clarke caught his sleeve before he could go anywhere. “Can you tell me where he lives? I’ve got a message for his mother.”

“What the _fuck_ ,” Atom breathed his calm assurance evaporating. “Was he bleeding out?”

“No! He was a little wounded, but if we can get him back before it gets infected he’ll be fine.” She stepped out of Atom’s grip. “I just thought I’d better pass on the message.”

Atom ran a hand through his hair. “No one goes to Bellamy’s place,” he explained. “Not if you’re bleeding, not if the Ark is on fire, never. You need him you shout from the end of the hall or you wait.”

“Well,” Clarke made a helpless gesture. “It must be important?”

Atom flicked his eyes towards the ceiling. “I’m going to get murdered,” Heaving a sigh he set off down the hallway. Clarke considered his likely lifespan for a moment and then resolved not to tell Bellamy how she’d found his unit.

It was down in the lower levels of Factory, near where the halls joined with Agro station and noisy with the hum of machinery from the factory floor above. Clarke could tell the units were cramped just from how close the doorways were spaced. Atom stopped at the end of the hall and pointed her the rest of the way. “Unit 20391.”

Clarke knocked and waited. And waited. She knocked again, a little louder. Maybe his mother was out?

“Who is it?” A woman’s voice. She sounded scared.

“Bellamy sent me?” Clarke tried. “He had a message.”

There was another pause - long enough that she considered just shouting the phrase like Atom said they shouted their messages - before the door finally hissed open. The woman on the other side was tall, with sad blue eyes and Bellamy’s dark hair. There was a wan look about her, a hollow cheeked cast to her face that suggested it was a long time since she’d last been able to eat as much as she really needed.

“Can I come in?”

Bellamy’s mother hesitated, but stepped reluctantly aside.

“I’m sorry to intrude but Bellamy asked me to come and give you a message – I actually don’t even know your name.” Clarke smiled awkwardly but it did make the ghost of a matching expression appear on Bellamy’s mother’s face.

“My name is Aurora.” She didn’t return the question, or meet Clarke’s eyes. “Something’s wrong isn’t it? Bellamy would never send you otherwise.”

“There was a trap,” Clarke began, and Aurora’s shoulders went tight, as though she was bracing for a blow. “He and I were caught by the Kings. But he helped me get away and the Saints are going to get him back.”

Ignoring Clarke’s attempt at reassurance, Aurora turned away to grip the table in the center of the room. She looked tense enough to shatter at a touch. “What was the message?”

“He told me to tell you Augustus had a sister?”

Aurora stood frozen for a long moment before she seemed to crumple in on herself. “Then he’s dead.”

“No!” Clarke protested. “He’s not dead; just captured.”

“He wouldn’t have trusted you with this if he thought he’d make it.”

“Well then he’s wrong,” She said, stubbornly refusing to think about what had happened that last time a friend had been kidnapped. The Kings were not the Floaters. Shumway said he had more value as a hostage. Bellamy would be fine. “We’ll get him back. Until then, whatever it is I’ll protect you.” Clarke promised.  

That coaxed a humorless smile out of Aurora as she gave Clarke an assessing once over. “I think you would,” She said. “But it’s not me who needs protecting.”

She crouched and pulled a threadbare rug away, then rapped against the seam of the floor plates. “Bellamy gave her the code Octavia, come out.”

The floor lifted and pulled free to reveal a tiny space that was full of a teenaged girl with her mother’s blue eyes and familiar dark hair.

Augustus had a sister and so did Bellamy.

 

* * *

 

“How did you manage this?” Clarke was still completely floored - which seemed like the wrong turn of phrase with Octavia staring at her, hungrily soaking up the sight of a new face. “I mean, it isn’t just the food. You must have needed medicine, vaccinations, her birth control implant?”

“Well birth control hasn’t really been an issue,” Aurora said wryly. Octavia made a face. “The rest we traded for, on the black market when we could. Or did without. That’s why Bellamy joined the Saints. For Octavia.”

“You’ll bring him back, right?” The girl demanded. Her expression was afraid, but fierce at the same time. Her fists clenched hard enough to turn her knuckles white. It was clear that even though Octavia had never met anyone who wasn’t her family before, she was completely willing to fuck up Clarke’s shit for her brother.

Clarke liked her already.

“I will,” She promised. Someone shouted from outside and there was the sound of marching feet. “Oh fuck me,” Clarke turned to a horrified Aurora. “I forgot that there were guards out looking for Saints.”

“They cannot find you here.”

Clarke nodded. “I can run for it. There’s a safe house where I’m living near the church.”

“You won’t make it,” Aurora shook her head. “Octavia?”

“We can fit,” The girl seized Clarke’s wrist and dragged her to the hole in the floor. She squeezed her body into the small space with practiced speed, tugging Clarke in after her. With two of them in the small space they barely , Clarke had to contort her shoulder so that Aurora could snap the floor back into place above them in a way she knew would be agonizing when she got to shake it out. The Ark itself had always felt small to Clarke, a closed system that kept them all contained. How much more stifling must Octavia’s life have been, trapped in a space that could barely hold her?

For a moment, in the dark and unable to move with another woman’s breath on her face, Clarke was back in the vent room with Rachel; panicked and suffocating slowly. Octavia seized her hand, pressing their foreheads together so she could whisper almost without a sound. “It’s okay. They won’t find us.”

“I’m fine, “Clarke said around the lump in her throat.

“I know,” Octavia squeezed her fingers. “Bell told me how tough you are.”

Clarke smiled, a little bemused at the thought of Bellamy telling anyone anything good about her. “He tells you everything?”

“Everything,” Clarke was close enough the feel Octavia’s nose wrinkle. “Well okay not _everything_ but all the good stuff.

Clarke huffed a laugh but was stopped from responding by a knock at the door.

“Inspection.” She heard a muffled voice bark. The unit door slid open before Aurora had a chance to respond. “Aurora Blake?”

“Yes that’s me.” There was a shift in pressure on the metal that was pressing into Clarke’s shoulder and she realized Aurora was standing right above her. Octavia held a hand over Clarke’s mouth, as if she might need the reminder.

Too much time with hotheaded Bellamy by far.

“Is there anyone else here?” The guard continued, though it was pretty clear from the noise of heavy boots on metal that there were already people searching the place.

“No.” Aurora didn’t sound fazed in the least.

There was a pause. “Our records indicate you live with your son.”

“He’s not here.”

“Ma’am do you know where he is?”

“He was seeing a girl on Mecha station,” Bellamy’s mother was either a very good actress or she’d had a lot of practice lying to the guard. Probably both. “He spends the night over there a lot.”

“And the girls name.”

“I’m not sure. R – something? Young men don’t tell their mothers as much as you’d think.”

The guard said nothing for a long moment. Clarke wondered if he was staring Aurora down, or gesturing that he knew two people were breathing under her floor, or if he was just tapping away on his tablet. After a moment he cleared his throat. “Factory station is currently on lockdown until the next shift change. After which it will be patrolled. If you have no duties elsewhere remain in your unit at all times.” Three sets of boots marched out before Aurora could say a word. The door hissed closed and Octavia began to count, nearly silent.

When she reached one hundred and twenty the floor above their heads opened and Aurora’s face looked down at them. “I guess you’re staying for dinner.”

 

* * *

Clarke was able to join the crowd swarming the halls at shift change and make it back to the church undetected, with a promise to visit Octavia once she’d rescued her brother.

Atom and Murphy were already there, discussing details with Shumway and Red.

"You think it'll work?" Atom was asking.

"It has to,” Shumway waved her over. “Sit down, kid. We got a way to rescue Blake."

"The shit you and Blake said to Grus must have really rattled him, because now he’ll hardly let Zoe out of his sight,” Red made a face. “She goes from wherever his place is, to check out the newest girls and how the brothel is running, then heads back. We can’t get anyone past their security so you need to go undercover.”

"Zoe’s visits every day just _happened_ to coincide with Morgan coming to check out the account books,” Shumway’s smile was lecherous as he picked up the story. “While they’re getting crazy, you slip in and take the place of her bodyguard. When Zoe’s done wiping her mouth, she'll have you take her back. Then you're at Grus’ place and it's all up to you."

“Well,” Clarke said after a moment. “That’s not going to work.”

Or at least she wanted to. If it wouldn’t have meant being on the receiving end of Shumway’s ire. Instead she led with “Could the Saint’s hit the Kings nearby? Draw some of the guards off?”

“We don’t want to attract too much attention.”

“Just a little skirmish then. Enough that they’re not looking at me too hard.”

Red looked pensive. “It’s a good plan. Keeps the heat off her.”

“Fine,” Shumway pointed to Red, then Murphy and Atom, then Clarke in succession. “You set up the raid, you two get ready to help with extraction and you make sure that Zoe doesn’t look at you twice.”

That part was easier said than done after the way Clarke had baited Zoe.

At least the Kings had a habit of wearing their colours as yellow bandanas over their faces - deniability if they were ever caught by the guard. Clarke layered on a heavy coating of black market eyeliner, smudging it into her lashes as Shas combed water into her hair to darken the colour and scraped it back into a bun.

Between that and the oversized coat she borrowed to pull over her long tank top and loose pants, Clarke looked like a very different person at a casual glance.

She slipped into Agro station easily and other than a few wary looks from ordinary civilians no one paid her any attention. The brothel was set up in an unused storage unit that had been converted when there was no longer anything to store in it. Someone had stolen a red, emergency light bulb from somewhere and installed over the door. The light it cast over the Kings standing guard was not so much seductive as nightmarish.

Clarke nodded in response to their greetings and slipped inside unchallenged.

Zoe was pacing back and forth in front of the shabby, scratched bar. In front of her were a dozen girls, none of them under thirty and all in clothes that would not have been practical for any actual agricultural work. Mostly they were listening with blank half-attention but a few looked hunted and one flinched slightly whenever Zoe got too close.  The King ganger serving as Zoe’s bodyguard looked bored out of his mind. He barely noticed Clarke at all until she spoke.

“Hey.”

He nodded. “What’s good?”

“I’m here to take over.” Clarke tried.

“Take over?” The thug huffed a derisive laugh. “What, did Grus decide to stop hating me?”

So watching Zoe was a punishment detail. That was a little surprising, but Clarke figured if she never got to do anything besides follow Zoe around getting shouted at she’d feel pretty punished too. “Not as much as he hates me right now.” Clarke hung her head, appearing defeated. ”Saints got past me and hit another one of our ops.”

“Shit, those jumped up assholes,” He gave Clarke a scornful look. “You sleeping on the job?”

“They got the drop on me,” She protested just enough to be convincing. “And I was outnumbered.”

“Well it’s definitely your turn on the shit list then. Just don’t let anyone kill her before Grus does.” He didn’t waste any time in racing out the door.

Zoe took another quarter hour to finish haranguing her girls for not earning enough and stomped out, her eyes skating over Clarke without really looking. “I can’t believe Morgan stood me up,” She muttered as they stormed down the hallway. Clarke contemplated her gun for a moment, looking from Zoe’s exposed back to the empty hall they were standing in. “What the hell are you dragging your feet for? “

Clarke resorted to just rolling her eyes and hurrying to catch up.

 

* * *

 

There were too many guards.

Clarke had tailed Zoe through a maze of corridors before dropping her off at a unit that must have been the one she shared with Grus but the careful watch of four, well-armed Kings destroyed any opportunity to slip in after her. Clarke had been forced to walk away and now she was hiding in an alcove cursing the fact that it was going to look damn suspicious if the bodyguard came back without being called for.

Unless she wasn’t the bodyguard.

Clarke craned her neck out her hiding place to make sure the hall was empty and then she started to strip. She shucked off her pants and pulled down the loose tank she was wearing underneath so that the top of her bra was exposed and the hem was just long enough to qualify as a skirt. Twisting, she slid the grip of her gun under the band of her bra beneath her arm. The additional tightness pushed her breasts up oddly but hopefully that would just make the whole thing more distracting. She ripped the sleeves off the nondescript jacket and tugged the resulting vest over her shirt-dress to hide the shape of the gun under her arm, then cinched it, still open, at the waist with the yellow scarf.

Pulling the tie out of her now-dry hair, Clarke shook it out until it formed big loose waves around her face then examined the result in a narrow window. The boots weren’t right, but between her exposed legs and the frankly terrifying amount of cleavage the gun-pushup bra had given her, Clarke would be amazed if anyone was looking.

She tried to swing her hips as she sauntered back to Grus and Zoe’s unit.

The first guard she encountered gave her a long wolf whistle and Clarke knew immediately this was going to work.

“Is this Zoe’s place?” She pitched her voice higher, ducking her head to look up at him through her lashes.

“Yeah baby girl,” He leaned in close, running his eyes up her body. “You one of Zoe’s ladies? Looking to make a little on the side?”

Clarke giggled and ran her hand over his chest; it was taking actual effort to suppress her desire to choke him out. “Another time big boy. Zoe asked me to come by and help her _entertain_ Mr. Grus tonight.”

“Whoa, shit,” The King shivered dramatically. “Grus is one lucky motherfucker. You go ahead baby, its number 1038.”

He made an approving comment on her ass when she walked away and Clarke shook her ass a little; promising herself she could put a bullet in him on the way out.

The door guards didn’t even knock; they just opened the unit letting Clarke wander right past them with a wink and a leer. Zoe was leaning on the counter, chattering away into a comm unit with her back to the door. Clarke came up behind her right as she signed off and seized her by the hair.

 “What the-!”

Zoe barely got out an outraged squawk before Clarke slammed her head off the counter. She checked the nearby closet, dragged Zoe in and shut the door.

Freeing her gun and drawing a pleasingly unrestricted breath, Clarke tiptoed across to the bedroom.

“Zoe, where the fuck are you?” She could hear Grus stomping towards the inside of the bedroom door and Clarke braced herself on the other side just in time to level her gun at him when it slid open.

“Hey baby.” She managed two shots at him before Grus was knocked back and out of her line of fire.

“About fucking time you got here!” Bellamy’s voice came from the next room, hoarse but angry.

Before she could answer, shouting erupted in the hallway and Clarke threw herself to the ground behind the counter. She swung her arm up and shot wildly over the countertop when the door hissed open. Three voices shouted and cursed, but one screamed and when she chanced a quick look there was a King thug slumped on the deck and bleeding from a gut wound. Taking him out neatly with another round in the head she braced both arms on the counter so she could just barely see over top and waited for the first of his friends to get cocky.

“You gonna pay for that you fucking bitch!” The guard who had called her baby girl edged around the doorframe aiming wildly around the room, then went down with a quick three count to the chest.

Clarke felt immensely better.

His friend aimed a rifle through the doorway and she had to duck again as the whole unit was peppered with gunfire. Keeping as low as she could, Clarke crawled to the far edge of her makeshift barricade, listening to the sound of his footsteps as he cautiously entered the unit. Dropping full length to the ground she kicked herself out of cover and the ganger had just enough time to catch sight of her before she shot him.

“Oh fuck this!” The last man standing took off in in a flash of yellow and Clarke leapt up after him. If he got away he’d be bringing back way more Kings than she had bullets for. Her first sloppy shot caught him in the leg just before he rounded the corner at the end of the hall, but it gave her the chance to hang out of the doorway and drop him before he could disappear.

“Grus isn’t dead!” the shout drew her back into the unit just in time to see Grus staggering across the living space to a third room on the opposite side. Clarke dashed back the way he’d come from, shooting as she ran and saw one of her bullets hit his arm before she ducked around the bedroom door to reload.

“Not to be pushy or anything,” Bellamy’s arms were tied behind his back and roped to the chair he was sitting on, his ankles tied to the legs. He was sporting a fat lip and a truly impressive shiner but the bandage on his leg looked fresh and well secured.  “But how about you get me out of this fucking chair!?”

Clarke rolled her eyes, hiding her relief. “You’re such a baby.” She drew the shiv from her boot and sliced through the ropes. “I’ve only got one gun and you can’t have it.”

“Not a problem,” he snatched the shiv instead of taking her offered hand and limped across the unit. Grus was slumped and wheezing, propped up against the foot of his bed, face pale with blood loss and eyes full of loathing. He’d managed to get to his weapon stash but when he tried to aim it at Bellamy his arm spasmed and refused to take the weight.

Bellamy stepped his bad leg right down on Grus’ crotch. Grus shouted in pain and surged up, trying to brace his bad arm to get his gun aimed, only to have it knocked away by Bellamy’s careless backhand as he leaned in close. “You shouldn’t have gone after my fucking mom, dipshit.”

He flipped his grip on the shiv and jammed it though Grus eye in one smooth motion, the blade sinking in right to the base of the handle.  The man’s screaming grew louder, then stopped pretty quickly.

Bellamy shifted back, stumbling a little and finally deigned to brace himself on Clarke. “Well that’s better.”

“You ready to go home?” Clarke hauled his arm over her shoulder to take his weight. “Or do you want to take a little more time being dramatic so the Kings can catch us?”

“Oh fuck you,” Bellamy gripped. “You’re the one who just took out a room full of guys with no pants on.” He looked pointedly at her legs, where the tank top had long since given up pretending to be a dress and her practical black underwear were clearly on display.

Clarke felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment, but refused to admit it. “I don’t need pants to be a badass.” She sniffed.

Bellamy chuckled, low and warm. “I take it back, Princess. You _are_ fun.”

 

* * *

 

Two days and a brace turned up from some connection Red had in Mecha station, and Bellamy was back in fine form: pacing like a caged tiger and snapping at Clarke every time she yelled at him for aggravating his stitches.

“How the fuck,” She exclaimed at last. “Does Octavia put up with you?”

Bellamy froze like she’d trapped him in amber.

It wasn’t possible he didn’t know she’d followed his order. Aurora must have told him Clarke had come to their unit. Clarke just hadn’t said anything because Bellamy hadn’t said anything but since it was just the two of them in his office while they waited for his crew to come back from a skirmish, she didn’t see the harm in mentioning his sister, but Bellamy looked almost nauseated. The blood had drained from his face, making the faint freckles that were usually invisible on his never-tanned skin stand out starkly.

“And finally he stops walking on his busted leg!” Clarke decided to give him a way out.

“Fuck off,” Bellamy snarled, but he finally relaxed.

“Seriously, sit down.”

“Not yet,” Red barged into the office before Clarke could chastise Bellamy any further. He hopped up on to the desk between them. “I’ve been talking to Shumway and obviously Green and the Kings have got something going on with the guard. We’re trying to figure how far that shit goes but to narrow it down I want you two to go out and cause some havoc. If we can turn the council's eye on the Kings, the guard won't have a choice but to come down on them.”

“You want us to go charging around in Alpha?” It was Clarke’s turn to feel ill

Bellamy cracked his knuckles. “Sounds good.”

“Hold up,” Red protested. “I haven’t even told you the plan yet.”

“Don’t worry Red; I’ve already got a plan.”

“Blake your idea of a plan is taking the biggest hammer you can find and smashing whatever's in your way."

Bellamy looked from Red to Clarke, who shook her head because that clearly was not a plan. “Sounds like a plan to me."

"As your shot up leg clearly proves."

"Oh, fuck you."

"Next time you try that hero shit you might not walk away at all." Red admonished.

“Hey I saved her life didn’t I?”

"Look, we worked out a plan that will hurt the Kings, and put minimum risk on you."

“Sounds good.” Clarke said firmly, ignoring Bellamy’s groan of irritation. "So how do the Kings get blamed for our mess?"

Red made an ah-ha! face and pulled a pile of yellow fabric out of his bag. There were a few loose shirts and some bandanas At least one scarf which Clarke snatched to replace the one she’d lost taking down Grus. “Put these on. You’ve got a little peace to disturb.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke couldn’t talk Bellamy out of coming - especially with Shumway’s blessing on Red’s plan - but she did manage to add a few members to their little party. Murphy, Shas and Enriq were all draped in the King’s colours by the time she met them back in Bellamy’s office. He was spinning the crew a grandiose dream of fucking things up for the Kings when Clarke returned with the map they’d stolen from the Floaters, the group hanging on his every word. But when she entered he cut the speech short, drawing their attention to Clarke as smoothly as he’d ceded the floor to her when planning the Floaters attack.

Clarke nodded her appreciation but he just shrugged it off. “I don’t like to handle the details.”

 She rolled the map out on a table so they could all see the station’s layout. “Alpha is made of rings, one inside the other, with lots of hallways connecting them. That means there’s a lot of territory to cover, but it’s also easy to get trapped. We should stay on the outer two rings. That will make it harder for them to lock us in.” She waited until everyone nodded their agreement before continuing. “On the outer ring we have two caf’s, a distribution center, all the gates off Alpha and the clinic. We are not hitting the fucking clinic. Say it with me.”

There was a rumble of voices as they chorused along, then a pause and Shas said. “Why not?”

“Same reason the Floaters didn’t try it,” Clarke explained. “Nothing is going to bring the guards faster.” And her mother was there, which meant it was to be avoided at all costs.

“I know it’s tempting,” Bellamy cracked his knuckles, like he was just imagining breaking a guard’s face with his fists. “But we’re putting on a show here so Shumway says mayhem, not murder.” He gestured to his desk where an impressive array of scavenged melee weapons waited for them.

“Second ring is our best bet,” She continued once everyone had finished griping. “Three entertainment units, the church and almost all the service stores. That’ll be full of witnesses and things to smash.”

“And Red said that wasn’t a plan.” Bellamy laughed and reached under his desk, tugging out a homemade sledgehammer and presenting it to Enriq with all the magnanimity of an emperor bestowing favor. “All my plans are the best.”

“It’s my plan Blake,” Clarke snatched up his bat and one of his knives before he could. “You’re just along for the ride.”

 

* * *

 

It was going well right up until it all went to shit. People were running and screaming, Enriq was doing his duty as a human battering ram with Shas chasing behind him screaming _‘Kings represent, motherfuckers!”_. Bellamy’s laughter was loud and bright over the sound of things breaking. Clarke was shooting out lights and occasionally at limbs for verisimilitude.

Then through the chaos she saw Murphy chase down a hallway towards the third ring. “Hey, hold up!” She shouted after him, but he didn’t stop. Waving at Bellamy to get the rest of them somewhere else, Clarke went running after him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She rounded the corner and almost ran right over Murphy’s gun, where he’d dropped it when the squad of guards who were lying in wait had told him to. Ten feet away they had Murphy face down on the deck as they frisked him for his ID chip. Their eyes locked for a moment and his widened. Then he surged upwards shouting “Run!”

Clarke had time to see the shock-sticks come out before her feet caught up with her brain and she was sprinting away. She couldn’t lead whoever might be chasing behind right back to Bellamy and the others on the second ring, so she ducked around another hallway to four peeling the yellow over shirt off as she ran. Her scarf came with it, blinding her and in the brief moment her eyes were covered she ran full tilt into someone, crashing hard to the deck. Yanking her inadvertent blindfold free she looked up into a familiar dark face.

“Wells?”

“Clarke!?”

“ _Fuck_!” There was the sound of running feet and the whine of shock-sticks. The guards would be on her in seconds. Clarke lurched to her feet, looking desperately for an exit. Before she could run Wells seized her arm and dragged her through the nearest door, slamming the button so it hissed shut instantly behind them.

Clarke braced herself on the closed door, panting to catch her breath.

“I thought you were a Saint now.” Wells said softly. She turned to look at him and a sweet painful longing for everything that had been her life until two weeks ago threatened to swamp her.

“I am a Saint.” The statement cleared her head. She was a Saint now. Proud and dangerous, loyal and not to be fucked with.

Wells gestured at the ball of yellow fabric in her hand and Clarke dropped it as though the material burned her. “It’s...” She hesitated.

“King’s colours.” Wells finished. “You’re in disguise?” When she said nothing he made a face. “You can trust me, Clarke.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Then tell me the truth. Were you the one who turned in my father?”

Wells was the only person she had told. Her best friend, utterly dependable Wells. Clarke watched the anguish on his face at the question; searched his eyes for the war inside them and knew when he smoothed it all away, stepped back and answered “Yes.”

“You’re lying!” She was across the room in an instant, pounding her fist into his chest. “If you’d told your father they would have _known_ that I knew too. I’d be in the skybox, or floated.” Clarke’s fist unclenched until she was only bracing herself against him, the realization she’d been ignoring for days overwhelming her. “It was my mother, wasn’t it?”

“Clarke,” He caught her arms and held her up.  “I didn’t want –“

“Stop trying to protect me Wells!” there were tears pricking at her eyes now, but Clarke refused to let them fall. “Stop lying.”

“Yes,” He said at last. “Yes, it was.”

She expected anguish but what swept through Clarke was rage. Unbelievable, icy rage that straightened her spine and dried her eyes. She stepped back, away from Wells, and whatever he saw in her face made him let her go instantly. “You let me hate you.”

“I didn’t want you to lose your whole family.”

That made her laugh, even though it wasn’t funny at all. “I found a new one,” She said. “They’re assholes, but I think I like them better.”

Wells laughed too and he relaxed enough to slump down onto the couch. Which was when Clarke took a moment to really look around. “You’re hiding me in your unit?!”

Wells shrugged. “You think they’d look for gangers under the Chancellor’s bed?”

“So not the point, Wells!” She scrubbed her fingers through her hair, considering exit options. “What if your dad comes back? I’ll be floated faster than you can say murderous gangster!”

“You’re not murderous.” Wells frowned.

“I’m pretty murderous.” She said. “It’s for good reasons, mostly.” Clarke offered when he looked stricken.

“You’re still a good person.” Wells assured her. Looking stubborn enough to fight her on the subject.

Clarke snorted. “Not the problem here. Bad, good, the Saints are trying to survive. I’m loyal to my people and I’m not sorry.” She finished.

“You’ve turned into a badass, Griffin.”

“I was always a badass.” She sniffed.

“Do they know who you are yet?”

“No,” She said quickly. “And you better not tell them. I was totally serious about killing you right in the face for that.”

“In the face?” Wells gasped in mock horror. “After all that about loyalty. Do I not count as one of your people?” He looked like he wanted to take the words back as soon as they left his mouth. Worried, maybe, that he was pushing her too hard. Clarke just threw herself down on the other end of the couch and jabbed at his thigh with the toe of her boot.

“Yeah,” She said. “I guess you are.”

She let the moment stretch and settle, until the silence felt comfortable and familiar again. Then her radio hissed and broke the moment. “ _Princess_?”

“Princess?” Wells repeated, incredulous.

Clarke just put a finger to her lips, fishing the radio out of her shirt. “I’m here.”  She heard a sigh of relief from whoever was assembled on the other end of the radio.  “I found a hiding spot, I’ll have to try and get out of Alpha as soon as I can.”

“ _That’s okay, kid,”_ Shumway assured her. “ _Just glad to know you’re not floating home.”_

“The guards pick up Murphy,” Clarke admitted. “I wasn’t fast enough to get him back. But it looked like he was headed for the skybox.”

“ _We’ll send someone around as a visitor with whatever he needs_.” Shumway’s voice didn’t quite cover the sound of Bellamy swearing in the background. _“The plan worked but you be careful, we don’t want to lose anyone else.”_

“Got it.” She nodded, even though they couldn’t see. “I’ll be back soon.”

The radio clicked off and Clarke returned it to its hiding place. “Guess I better get you out of here, huh?” Wells stood and disappeared for a moment into his room. Returning with a grey hooded sweatshirt and a book.

“That’s mine,” Clarke said dumbly reaching out to take the sketchbook that had been her most treasured possession. She flipped carefully though the pages, her fingers hovering just above the charcoal so she wouldn’t smudge the images of plants and animals, of deep woods and endless oceans.

“I took it from your unit,” Wells explained. “After I saw you the last time I thought I might get a chance to give it back.”

“Thank you.” She murmured; and even though the pages were almost full and just looking at the book made Clare’s heart ache for her father, she meant it. The sketchbook could still be worth something, even if it wasn’t to her.

“Sometimes at midnight shift change I go to the caf on Hydro station,” Wells offered as Clarke covered her hair with the grey hood and checked her gun was concealed. “If you want to return that sweater, or just try the sauce they use on the protein rations.”

“I’ll think about it,” Clarke nodded with a little smile. “If you ever want to join a gang, come down to Factory.”

Wells chuckled. It was the last thing she heard as she slipped out into the hallway.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up splitting this because it became too long. The second half will be out soon.


	3. All the King's Men

 

After the debriefing and the celebration, with one too many shots of moonshine in her system, Clarke gave Bellamy an eyebrow wiggle across the church that made Shas laugh right into her shot glass and blind herself with the back spray of liquor.

“Oh Boss no,” she moaned, when Clarke had finally managed to clean her face and get the rest of the nearby Saints to stop snickering. “Don’t do it.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t do Blake,” Shas dropped her forehead into the hollow of Clarke’s shoulder and rolled it back and forth in denial. “Don’t stick your vag in so much crazy.”

Clarke burst out laughing and lifted the girl’s head gingerly to lean her back against the wall, waving Shas’ redheaded friend over. “Don’t worry,” She soothed. “That was an all business face. Bellamy and I have planning to do.”

“Oh good,” Shas looked relieved the way only a drunk girl could, smiling beatifically at everyone and everything. “I like your plans. They always end in violence and us totally fucking up the Kings!” Shas bellowed the last part, throwing both arms in the air in victory. The Saints close enough to hear shouted back in drunken agreement.

“I got her.” The redhead – Clarke should really learn her name – caught Shas before she managed to slump over and brain herself on the edge of the crate she’d been sitting on.

“Thanks,” Clarke said. “Get her some water.”

Bellamy met her at the church door, but Clarke didn’t stop walking until they had some distance on the party and the halls were empty of couples looking for a dark place to steal a kiss.

Eventually he lost patience and snagged her arm before she could go any further. “What Princess?”

“I,” she beamed up at him. “Have a present for Octavia.”

Bellamy went still, for a moment Clarke could swear he wasn’t even breathing. “For Octavia?” It came out strangled.

She heaved a sigh and kept marching down the corridor, assuming he would follow. “I thought it would be better not to show up alone and scare your mom again.”

They bickered amicably as they walked, over the logic of Red’s sometimes convoluted plans, Salujah’s total avoidance of leadership roles except in the field. When they reached the end of the hall that housed Bellamy’s unit he broke off the conversation and began to whistle, a loud simple melody that echoed off the metal walls. Bellamy’s steps fell in time with the beat, coming to rest outside his door just as the last note died away. He knocked twice lightly and Clarke followed him inside.

Octavia must have been waiting against the wall out of sight because she jumped to tackle her brother and almost knocked Clarke sprawling. Her eyes went wide, shifting from Clarke to Bellamy and back. “Mom’s asleep,” She said. “Is everything okay?”

Bellamy just shrugged in Clarke’s direction. She rolled her eye, reaching into her coat for the package she’d wrapped in a ripped scarf.

Octavia looked stunned. She stared at the wrapped shape for a long moment and Clarke wondered when the last time she’d received a present was. “Open it.” She urged.

The binding was discarded quickly and Octavia stroked the cover of the old sketchbook, testing the texture of the paper. “It’s not much,” Clarke explained, suddenly feeling unsure. “But I -“

Octavia opened the book to a drawing of a lake, surrounded by birch and evergreen under a moonlit sky. Her mouth fell open in a soft gasp. “It’s just like I pictured it,” She whispered. “It’s beautiful.” She looked up at Clarke with shining eyes.

“I just thought you might like it.” Clarke looked from Octavia to Bellamy, who was staring like he’d never seen her before. He opened his mouth to say something and Octavia drew a hiccoughing breath, pulling him back to her in an instant.

“O, you alright?”

Octavia kept her head ducked away from Clarke, whispering “Thank you. “ In a voice that was audibly teary.

Clarke jerked to her feet, happy to use sparing Octavia’s dignity as an excuse to bolt. “I’ll draw you some more if I can find the colours.” She promised, almost tripping out in to the halls; the sound of Octavia’s stunned voice saying “More?” and Bellamy’s considering “You drew these?” following her outside. Clarke decided that the best way to get out of an awkward conversation was total avoidance, and picked up her pace.  


Shumway caught her just as she reached the door of the safe house. “Kid, we need you.”

Some small, exhausted part of Clarke - where the hangover was beginning to pound at her temples -wanted to tell him to fuck off but she set her jaw and nodded. “What do I need to do?”

“You need to come be my fucking backup. Matteo Green is getting his ass coup-d by his second in command.”

“What?”

“It seems like with Grus gone, Morgan’s gotten a big head and tried to take him out. He's pinned down in the upper grow labs right now and needs some help,” Shumway held up a hand to stop Clarke before she could ask the obvious question. “What happens to Green may not mean shit to you, but him and me, we got history. I owe him from way back, and he’s not going down if I can help it.”

Well that Clarke could understand. Even if she'd kept hating Wells, Clarke wouldn’t have let him die if she could save him. “We need bigger guns.”

“In the grow rooms?” Shumway handed her a machete crudely made from a sharpened piece of sheared off metal. “Better not to risk too much of that shit.”

Clarke hefted the blade, staring at it. “I have no idea how to use this.”

“Pointy side in anyone you see wearing yellow.”

Clarke gave Shumway a flat stare. “Thanks.” She swung the weapon a few times to feel its heft and then checked the pistol in her waistband instead. “Are we meeting Red and the others there?”

“Kid, you are the first person I’ve found not passed out, puking or drunk out of their mind,” Shumway replied. “It’s just you and me for this one.”

She should have stayed at Bellamy’s. No avoidance of emotional moments was worth this. “So it’s us against the entirety of the Kings?”

“Just stay sharp and do what I tell you.” He headed off down the corridor to the elevator banks, making Clarke run to keep up with him. When they reached the elevator Shumway gestured for her to hit the buttons while he pried the screen off the wall above.

Shumway pulled a tangle of cords from one of his pockets and clipped them from the tablet to the wires at the back of the screen; tapping away while Clarke listened to the elevator hum and tried to curb the urge to demand an explanation.

“Can I help?” She asked finally.

Shumway just grunted and pulled everything apart, slotting the screen back into place as the elevator came to a halt. “Come on.”

Clarke bristled with indignation but said nothing. Even from this distance she could hear the sounds of fighting, gunfire and shouted threats. They paused to peer around the corner. At least a dozen Kings were ranged around the entrance, firing up at the balcony on the second level of the grow room.

“How many?” Shumway whispered when they’d ducked back.

Clarke closed her eyes, remembering. “Seven on the left, five- no, six on the right.”

“Do you remember where they are?” He didn’t wait for a real answer, seizing the back of her shirt to shove Clarke around the corner. One breath, two breaths and he pulled her back.

“Yes,” She breathed. “I know where they are.”

“Close your eyes,” Shumway began to count down, slow and measured. “Six,” Clarke squeezed her eyes shut. “Five, four, three, two, one.” He finished

Every light on the level went out.

“Go, Kid.” Clarke didn’t need Shumway’s whisper to tell her to move. She opened her eyes to a world that was, for a moment, blacker than she’d ever seen. Then her eyes adjusted to the faint earthlight emanating from other corridors, and she was running.

Clarke fired her pistol into the knot of seven Kings, shielding her eyes against the flash. She managed to get three shots off before she had to drop it in favor of the machete. She hit the first King in the back, the blade sinking into flesh faster and easier than expected; the ganger fell without even a groan. Clarke could just make out the flash of a blade being pulled before her momentum carried her into the next King. Something sharp scoured a hot line across Clarke’s collarbone and she sliced out blindly; twisting backwards she tripped on someone and went down. The King leapt forward, trying to press their advantage, and caught Clarke’s outstretched machete right under their ribs. Clarke felt the handle twist as the King screamed and tried to dislodge themselves, only succeeding in ripping their stomach open further. Clarke yanked the blade back and the King fell with it, landing half across Clarke and going still.  She shoved the body to the ground and struggled into a crouch, straining to see through the darkness.

A muzzle flash blinded her from somewhere above as Shumway followed her in, shooting. “Close em’ Kid!” He shouted, and Clarke narrowly avoided being blinded when the lights flicked on for a slow count of two before switching off again. Ten seconds, just enough for Clarke to tackle the nearest King before the lights went on again, for another two count. Clarke’s vision went spotty but it wasn’t enough to stop her stabbing down and taking out the King she was straddling. “Five, three,” She called to Shumway.

“Two, two.” He retorted. “Get to Green!”

Clarke surged to her feet, counting out the seconds, and dashed into the rows of cultivation shelves. She had just enough time to see the row was clear before the light died again but she kept the machete stretched out in front of her. Plant fronds whipped her as she ran and the air was heavy with the smell of growth. This was as close as she would ever be to the drawing she’d given Octavia; a forest under moonlight. When Clarke had sketched it she’d imagined less screaming and gunfire.

Her machete hit something. The impact sent it skidding and Clarke lost her grip on the handle at the jar. There was an anguished yell and someone struck Clarke’s leg in the right place to send her sprawling, just in time to miss a gunshot. She fumbled with her own pistol, firing twice in the direction of the muzzle flash and had an instant to hope that it wasn’t Shumway she’d hit before the lights went back on.

The King she’d shot was slumping to the ground. Behind him, covering her eyes, was a dark skinned woman with long dreadlocks, dressed differently from the average Kings brute. Clarke took aim but before her shot could connect a ganger sprinted out of nowhere and tackled the woman, sending them both crashing into the garden shelves. The room was plunged into darkness again and Clarke scrambled to her feet, racing past them toward the back of the room.  

She careened at full speed into the wall at the end of the row, twisting when her toes hit metal just in time to take the force on her shoulder instead of her forehead. Grunting she braced one arm against the wall to guide her and dragged along that way until it disappeared up the stairs. The lights came on and Clarke took the steps three at a time but wasn’t fast enough to reach the top before they were off again. She fell hard and took the rest half crawling.

Dim red lights switched on just as she touched the top of the stairs. Emergency power had come online, which meant that someone was wise to Shumway’s little trick. More importantly it meant that the three Kings at the top of the stairs could see her.  Lurching upright she shot the closest of the Kings twice in the chest. Reflex action pulled the trigger of his gun even as he started to fall, and a spray of bullets sent Clarke leaping over the nearest lab bench; nearly landing on the man who was already hiding back there. They stared at one another for a shocked breath, and then the man shifted smoothly out of cover and unloaded his shotgun into the distracted Kings.

Clarke rose more slowly; keeping her gun braced and ready, she swept the room for survivors and then turned the weapon carefully towards the man with the shotgun. He was Asian, probably late forties with a face she would have characterized as kind if he hadn’t been squinting at her over a loaded weapon.

“Where the hell did you come from, girl?”

“Shumway sent me.” Clarke said carefully. If this was Green – and the fact that the Kings had been shooting at him even though he wore a yellow armband meant it probably was – he might not feel the same sense of loyalty that Shumway did.

Unexpectedly the man broke into a broad grin and lowered the shotgun. “Well that’s the best damn news I’ve heard in a long time.”

Clarke was prevented from replying by the sound of a pained scream from the grow floor below. She and Green leaned over the balcony rail in unison. Below them, lying in a mess of bruised plants and shattered glass was the dreadlocked woman. The ganger who had pushed her away from Clarke’s shot had taken it himself, lying dead nearby. The force of their impact had not only broken the shelves, it had driven one of the broken support struts right through place where her shoulder met her collarbone. As they watched, the woman tried to lift herself free, only to fall back with the same shout of agony when she couldn’t get the leverage.

“Morgan.” Green muttered the name like a curse.

Shoes clicked loudly across the deck plates and Zoe appeared from the end of a row. “Hey sweetheart.”

Morgan caught sight of her and went limp with relief. “You have to get me off this before the guards get here.” Zoe just watched for a moment, not moving any closer and eventually Morgan lost her patience. “What the fuck are you just standing there for? Get me off this!”

“You know, baby,” Zoe said conversationally, at odds with the enormous gun she pulled from behind her back to level at Morgan’s head. “I think we’ve taken our relationship about as far as it can go.”

Morgan snorted. “You think you can run the Kings without me?”

“I know it.” Zoe practically purred.

“You fucking bit-“ The gunshot cut Morgan off before she could finish.

“So long sweetheart.”

There was movement from the other side of the room and Clarke saw Shumway leap out of hiding and take aim at Zoe. The Madame ducked at the shot and dodged around the broken shelf, sprinting for the exit. Alarms began blaring before anyone could give chase and he looked up to the balcony. “Get Green out of here, kid!” He shouted. “I’ll meet you back at the church.”

Green nodded and gestured for Clarke to follow him out of the lab and into a back hallway. “Don’t worry,” He said. “I know routes out of Agro the guards can’t even imagine.”

The hallway they took was narrow and interior to the station, half draped in electrical cords and plumbing lines. Through the walls Clarke could hear the drumming sound of a group running in formation and it had her looking constantly for exits. Green seemed unfazed by the noise or the possibility of guards catching up with them, even when they had to leave the small passage for the wider, station bridging corridors, but he didn’t speak until they’d cleared the sector.

“Does Shumway ever talk about growing up down here?” He asked. Clarke blinked at him in surprise and Green chuckled. “What, you thought he was from Factory?  I bet he gave you the whole ‘At each other’s throats is just where the council wants us’ speech, didn't he? I wrote that shit years ago, and the unoriginal bastard is still using it. “

“It’s a good line.” Clarke offered. It had, after all, worked on her.

“Yes it is,” Green nodded. “I should have gone into politics.”

 

By the time they got back a council had convened at the church. Bellamy, Red and Shumway all gathered around the table in Shumway’s office. Beyond that the whole place was deserted and Clarke allowed herself a moment of envy over everyone who was still sleeping off the moonshine.

Shumway stood as they approached, clasping Green’s arm and leading him to his seat.

“Looking good, Mattie.”

“Been a long time, Sil” Red gestured to the open chair and Clarke sank into it gratefully as Green sat down.

“I’m sorry about Grus.” Shumway offered. The knife that Bellamy had been picking his nails with while pretending not to watch the room ended up point down in the table.

Everyone looked at him for a moment but Green just sighed. “That was business. It’s behind us now.”

“So,” Red asked eagerly. “What’s the plan?”

“We kill Zoe,” Green said gravely. “And I go back to business.”

“I don’t think so, Matteo.”

“What?” Green seemed completely incredulous, which Clarke found a little strange. They’d saved his life but Shumway was pretty clearly not the type of person to let a friendship take priority over a territory war.

“I said no. You’re alive and the two of us are straight. But the Kings? They have to be through.”

“Then kill me,” Green rolled his eyes. “And quit wasting my damn time.”

 “You’ve got a choice,” Shumway glared at him but Green looked unimpressed.

“Is this where you tell me to flip to the Saints?”

“You can keep your fucking pride and die right now,” Shumway continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “Or you can be a man and walk away, maybe see your son again.”

“When did you grow balls, Sil?”

Red bristled at the insult but Shumway remained impassive. “What’s it gonna be?”

“How, exactly, am I supposed to leave? Not like I can float my ass off to another Ark.”

“Go into politics,” Clarke murmured. Every head turned to her and she raised her voice as the idea became clearer. “You said you should have gone into politics; join the council.” That provoked a round of laughter from Shumway, Red and Bellamy, but Green just gave her a contemplative look.

“Council members have to be voted on.”

“By the residents of the station they represent,” Clarke agreed. “Between the people still loyal to the Kings and the parts of Agro controlled by the Saints I’d say you have a guaranteed majority. Run for the position and disband the loyal Kings. We’ll keep you in office, you watch out for our interests.”

“And the current Agro station council member?” Green asked. “If she turns up dead they’re not going to let me run.”

“We frame her,” Shumway caught the spirit of the idea. “With your crimes.”

Red slapped the table, laughing. “Make councilor Marko look like she’s the leader of the Kings?”

“Or at least high enough up the food chain that they’ll have to get rid of her.” Shumway relented, seeing Green’s frown.

“Marko’s an innocent.”

“None of the council is innocent.” Clarke spat. “She may not be involved in this but she’s got blood on her hands.”

“We’ll get her out of the way,” Bellamy said, with his eyes on Clarke. “The details aren’t the point.”

“He’s right, Matteo,” Shumway refocused on his old friend. “What will it be?

“I’m not walking away.” Green said finally.

“Fair enough,” Shumway sighed. “Bellamy?”

Bellamy stood, drawing the gun from his waistband. His expression was blank but there was something in his eyes that made Clarke want to do the job herself, just so he didn’t have to. It was one thing to kill in a fight, another to put a bullet in the head of someone you’d been having a friendly discussion with.

“I’m not walking away until we deal with Zoe.” Green clarified.

Everyone at the table looked simultaneously relieved and like they were trying to appear indifferent. Bellamy dropped back into his seat, relaxing enough to actually ease his healing leg into a more comfortable position. “Good to hear, Green.” Shumway clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You understand that this isn’t just about Zoe though, right? We're finishing the whole crew."

"Yeah, I know."

"So let's get to it. Plan?"

“I know where all those fools hide out,” Green scoffed. “And I’ve still got a man or two in the guard who’d like a promotion. All we need to do is send the guards to the right place, then draw out the crew and let the law take care of the rest.”

“Alright,” said Shumway. “We’ll get you a team.”

“I want the girl,” Clarke snapped to attention as Green waved a hand at her. “She’s a good shot and seeing as she’s my campaign manager it only seems fair.” That made the whole table laugh.

“Alright kid, we’ll get you a few more warm bodies but you can be Green’s right hand tomorrow,” Shumway said. “Best we wait till the heat dies down in Agro.”

“And I need to find a unit on Alpha.” Green said to Clarke with a conspiratorial wink.

Shumway looked between the two of them and rolled his eyes. “It’s good to have you back, Matteo.”

 

* * *

 

“Don’t like the council much, do you princess?” Bellamy fell into step with her as she left the office. “Who’d they float?”

“It’s not about that, “Clarke hedged. “It’s the fact that they’re all more interested in keeping themselves happy and their jobs secure and –“ She caught his skeptical look and relented. “My dad. They floated my Dad, okay?”

“Of course it’s not fucking okay.” He caught her shoulder and they stopped. Clarke met his eyes, defiantly, waiting for him to tell her to suck it up; but Bellamy just looked torn and a little sympathetic. “I’m coming with you.” Was all he said.

“What?”

“You and Green, add me to the list. I’m coming with you.”

“Bellamy you’re still injured.”

He waved off her concern. “I’m fine and you need the backup”

“So I’ll take Red, or Enriq or Salujah – this is exactly her kind of mission.”

“They,” He said pointedly. “Are not as good as me.”

“You are not as good as you think you are”

“That sounds like a challenge, Princess. Now I definitely can’t miss this mission.”

“You –“ Clarke began, and then stopped herself. She closed her eyes and took a long breath. “No, you know what? I’ve been up for,” She started to count and then gave up. “Way too many hours, I’ve had too many emotional conversations and been shot at way to many times to have this argument now. I’ll let Shumway disabuse the shit out of your notions tomorrow,” He laughed and Clarke shoved him. “Go away.”

“See you tomorrow, Princess.” Bellamy was still chucking as he walked off, his usual swagger totally ruined by the leg brace.

 

* * *

 

They met back at the church just after first shift had started.

“If Zoe’s smart she’ll have closed ranks.” Green explained. “Get all the Kings in one place so they now who’s running shit and how it’s gonna go down from now on. But Zoe’s controls are all vice. She’s keeping the boys in line with the promise they can do what they like. So chances are if we hit them this early, they’ll still be sleeping off last night.”

“They won’t have posted a guard?”

“Not enough of one to give us trouble.”

Salujah looked dubious. “There are going to be a lot of people on Agro at this time of day.”

“Well then it’s a good thing we’re not going to Agro.” Green smirked. “You really think I’m dumb enough to have my stronghold on the same station that all my ops are in?”

“I guess we did.” She said, looking irritated that she had to admit it.

“Looks like Shumway hasn’t learned as much as I thought.”

“So where’re we going?” Bellamy asked impatiently

“Hydro.”

“You’re a fucking crazy person.” Enriq breathed. No gang had a foothold on Hydro and no one would try. Agro was one thing to fight through – there were always ration bars after all – but Hydro controlled all the water and all the air on the Ark. No one wanted to mess with that.

“We’re not starting a firefight on Hydro,” Clarke declared stubbornly. She looked over their team, ready to smack down anyone who felt like arguing the point, but it seemed that the Saints were in complete agreement.

“We have to draw them out.” Green explained. “I’ve tipped of the guard there’s something big going down and they’re ready to move. We get the Kings doing something stupid and they’ll swoop in. Then we mop up and take out Zoe.”

“We could fake a reactor failure.” Koster offered.

“No, then the guards will just have to sweep the whole sector,” Salujah shook her head. “People will panic and the Kings’ll use that to hide out.”

“If you’re all done making suggestions?” Green crossed his arms over his chest, looking over their group impatiently. “There’s a back way in. Through the maintenance conduits. We crack their defenses and set off the internal alarms. Then let the guard come and take care of the rest while we take out Zoe and head back the way we came.”

The Saints stared at him for a beat and Enriq raised his hand timidly. “I’m not gonna- “ He began, but Green cut him off “You’re not gonna fit in the maintenance shafts.” His voice was a sigh. “It’s fine. I got someone coming in to make up the numbers.”

“I think that’s my cue.” Someone said from the doorway.

“Roma?” Bellamy whirled around, smacked his brace against the corner of the table and went very, very still. Clarke would have bet her last ration bar his blank face was hiding an embarrassing noise of pain. She decided to take merciless advantage of Bellamy’s momentarily silence. “I thought you weren’t part of the Kings?”

“I decided to get out when Zoe started sniffing around the stills girls,” She said defiantly. “But when Green ran into me he asked for help, since I know the way. Plus, he promised to keep me in ration tickets till next year.”

“Fair enough.” Bellamy shot Clarke a betrayed look, but she just pushed a free chair towards him with her foot, pleased when he sat down and finally started to breathe easy again.

“So you just dropped your colours like it was nothing?”  Bellamy challenged. Roma’s easy saunter faltered and her face began to shutter.

“Oh fuck you, Bellamy.”

Clarke coughed conspicuously and when he looked from Roma back to her she gave him the glare that had always made Wells hand over his desert rations. Bellamy rolled his eyes but caught Roma’s arm. “That was smart. No wonder you wouldn’t join up with us.”

“I wasn’t really part of the gang,” Roma protested with smile, quickly regaining her confidence. “I just didn’t want you to have all the fun.”

Bellamy snorted and motioned for her to sit. “Don’t think this means you’re a badass now.”

Roma perched close enough that their legs were brushing. “You can be the badass,” She agreed. “I just want to help.”

Green ignored the whole exchange, his attention on Koster and Salujah. Shumway had appeared in the far doorway and they were all embroiled in some heated discussion.

“Why did you offer me the help if you’re just gonna take them back Sil?”

“I need Salujah here,” Shumway protested. “Between Koster, Bellamy and the Kid you’ll have enough people to take on your sneaking op.”

“You never did understand the value of a good non-offensive strategy.”

Shumway’s mouth tightened. “Matteo you’re gettin real close to the end of my generosity.”

Green huffed, but slowly he readjusted so that they were no longer in each other’s faces. “Your gang, your rules, Sil.”

“Damn straight,” Shumway jerked his head at Salujah and she vanished back into the church. “You should get going.” He said pointedly before he followed her.

Green pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. “Alright,” He turned back to them. “Get strapped and let’s roll.”

 

* * *

 

The halls of Agro were quiet this early in the morning and the five of them moved through passing more than a handful of people- all of whom found pressing reasons to be elsewhere very quickly. Green took the front with Clarke at his flank, and Koster calmly edged Bellamy out of the rear position.

Green looked appraisingly at Roma where she stuck close to Bellamy’s side and then turned to Clarke. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen.” She tried not to have it come out as a challenge but from the smile on Green’s face she’d probably failed.

“I ask because I’ve got a son about your age. The two of you might hit it off.” He held up his hand for a halt to check the next corridor.

“Isn’t he in the Skybox?”

“You would be too, if the Guard caught up to us.” Green pointed out, stopping to turn and face her properly.

“Are you really trying to get me to date your son?” Behind her, Bellamy made a noise that could only be described as a squawk, and Roma and Koster burst into laughter.

Green just shrugged, unabashed. “He could do a lot worse. If this goes south and you end up in the box, look Monty up.”

“If this goes south, we’re all getting floated.” She reminded him, slowly.

“Not me,” Roma crowed, wiggling her eyebrows at Clarke. “I’ll check him out for you, if I can have first dibs.” Before she could move ahead of the group and round the corner, Bellamy caught her by the back of the jacket, no longer laughing. He waved them all back against the wall and held up two fingers.

“Damn,” Green swore under his breath. “I guess they found it after all.”

“I can take them,” Bellamy pulled his pistol out, but Green stopped him.

“There are guards patrolling this station. I’ve got them staying away from here but too much noise and the honest one’ll come running. We need this quiet.” He nodded at Koster, who drew two long throwing knives from his jacket and stepped around the corner in one smooth motion.

The first shot was smooth as silk.

One blade right through skull of the closest King, and he crumpled without a sound. It was his cohort, hidden behind him who ruined everything. The second ganger saw her friend slump and bent to help, inadvertently ducking the knife aimed for her head. It clanged, loudly against the wall and she shouted in panic, drawing her gun and emptying the clip at Koster as he tried to let a third blade fly. The bullets took Koster right in the arm and the knife clattered to the deck from his nerveless fingers.

“Fuck,” Bellamy rounded the corner and put four shots into the King as she tried to reload. “So much for sneaking.”

Clarke scrambled over to check Koster’s arm as the rest of them headed for the maintenance hatch. He’d taken three bullets, two right through his bicep and one that had most certainly broken his forearm. “You need to go back.” She instructed over Bellamy’s hissed “Come on, Princess!”

“I’ll dump the ordinance and hit the clinic on Arrow.” He said, grimacing as Clarke pulled off his purple armband and tied it tightly around the wound that had broken bone.

“Be careful.”

“You too, boss.” He saluted sloppily with his off hand. “See you back at the church.”

He vanished at a run and Clarke made a dash for the hatch, Green and Bellamy reaching out to pull her through into darkness.

 

* * *

 

They shuffled forward, half crawling through the narrow space lit only by Green’s penlight and the small machine lights that winked at them from various panels. Clarke’s shoulders quickly started to ache from stooping but she was still glad to be the smallest in the group; every few moments one of the others started cursing as they smacked their heads. Octavia would have been perfect for this. Clarke smirked at the thought of Bellamy’s apoplectic fit if his sister joined the Saints.

It was nearly half an hour before Green called them to a halt. He slid the hatch they’d stopped at open a fraction and then turned back. “This is it, you kids ready?”

Bellamy shouldered forward, sticking his head out and then twisting free of the confined space. “Green, the only person in this tube I’m worried about is you.”

Green ignored his offered hand, springing out and pulling a heavy pistol from his jacket. “Then you don’t know me, son.”

“That’s why I’m worried.” Bellamy dodged when Clarke tried to elbow him, smirking at her.

“Your faith is very encouraging.” Green said, dry as dust.

“I like to be positive.”

They’d emerged into what looked like a supply closet, boxes of cleaning chemicals making the air astringent. “We’re on the upper level of the compound,” Green explained. “Close to the main office.” He eased the door open to an empty hall. From one direction Clarke could hear music and shouting, Green turned the other way. “From there we can set off the perimeter alarms and send all these Kings running right into the guard.”

Roma moved after him, hot on his heels, Bellamy gestured for Clarke to go ahead, his shoulders and expression tight. “There’s no cover in here.” He groused.

Clarke hesitated, looking over the space, then headed for a control panel set nearly invisibly into the walls. Most of the Ark was designed to partition and lock down in the event of decompression. She popped the latch and then stared at the resulting mass of wires for a moment. “Do you know what to do with these?” She asked helplessly.

“Not a clue.” Bellamy said, then reached in and ripped a fistful of connections loose.

“Stop!” Clarke forgot the command to be quiet but it was too late anyway. The doors made a loud pneumatic hiss and slammed closed. There was no alarm and no sound to indicate they’d attracted attention. At the other end of the hall, Green and Roma were watching them with identical horrified expressions. “You,” Clarke said finally. “Are so fucking lucky.”

Bellamy gave her a shit eating grin. “This is all skill, Princess.”

She abandoned him to catch up with the others. “That won’t hold them too long,” Green said, speculative now that the initial moment of panic had passed. “Let’s not do anything else stupid.”

"Where now?" Roma asked. The hall had opened into a conference room of sorts; various pieces of mismatched furniture were set around low, ornamental walls, all of it dominated by a heavy table. There were doors to either side of the room and a short set of steps at the far wall which lead up to a third.

"Up." Moving round the table, Green ascended and tapped on the keypad for the door. He seemed surprised when the light flashed an approving green. “Didn’t even change the code.” He muttered contemptuously, just as the door hissed open and they were greeted by a shotgun blast.

“Fuck me!” Bellamy shouted, dragging Roma clear of the open doorway half a second before she would have been perforated.

“Better cover your ears Matteo,” Zoe’s voice mocked from inside the office. “It’s about to get loud.”

A klaxon started to blare inside the compound. Not the usual Ark emergency tone, something higher, almost trilling and setting Clarke’s teeth on edge. “I’m going to guess that’s not the perimeter alarm.”

“Bitch hit the damn panic button.” There was shouting, muffled through the walls. Something struck the sealed blast door with a clang but it held. There was another blast from the shotgun.

“You’re always just too slow!” Zoe called.

Before Clarke could stop him, Green bolted up the stairs. She followed just in time to see the flash of Zoe’s jacket as she vanished through a closing wall. “Shit,” Green cursed. “That’s the route out to the elevators.” He lunged for the desk and started frantically tapping at the computer.

“The elevators?” From the conference room there was the sound of screeching metal and then shooting. Clarke ducked back out to see that the door on the left had been forced open and Kings were starting to shoot their way in. Bellamy had taken cover behind the table but Roma was wide open.

Clarke fired wildly around the office door to give Roma the space to get out of the way. “How many back routes do you have out of your secret base anyway?”

‘Four!” Green finished whatever he’d been doing with a flourish. The pitch of the alarms changed again. “Proximity warning for the guards.” He explained, vaulting the table to reach the wall passage Zoe had gone through. “Come on girl, let’s get her.”

Clarke shook her head. “I’m not leaving them.”

“Then meet me at the silo,” He shouted, frustrated and no more willing to wait than she was. “I know where Zoe’s running to.”

“No, wait!” She dashed forward, but the wall was already swinging shut behind him. Clarke swung around looking for the release and the computer blinked ‘total system wipe’ at her mockingly. Growling in frustration, Clarke dashed out of the office. Leaping down the stairs in a single jump, she turned her landing into a roll and came up behind the desk, half falling onto Roma. “Green’s gone after Zoe,” She told them. “But the door sealed behind him.”

“How the fuck is this place secret with so many exits?” Bellamy shouted in time with his gunshots.

“We need to get out the way we came.”

“Seriously?” He ducked back down and nudged Roma. “You first.”

“Bellamy.” She protested but he just shook his head.

“No time to argue, we’ll give you the window. Now go!” He pointed out the right of the table and Clarke moved as instructed. Bellamy stood, shooting and shielding Roma with his own body. When the Kings ducked out of cover to fire back, Clarke was already there, crouched low around the table’s edge and picking them off. Roma skidded off down the hall at a dead sprint towards their exit.

“Glad we sealed the door.” Clarke breathed as they both ducked back at the same time.

Bellamy shoved her shoulder where it was pressed against his. “You next, Princess.”

“Not a chance, _Augustus_ ,” With the way he froze up whenever Clarke said her name, she didn’t dare mention Octavia but the reminder was pointed all the same. He had people counting on him. “We’re going together.”

He gave her a long look, then nodded. “Together.”

“How many?”

“That I saw? Two in the doorway, four hiding at the end of the room.” The report of a gun was loud even over the klaxons still ringing in the base. “And they’ve got some kind of rifle.” Bellamy added.

“We could take it from them?” She suggested.

“I like the way you think, “He grinned. “Switch places. Take-“

“The chair, I see it,” She nodded. “Reloaded?”

“Good to go.”

“Try to keep your leg away from the bullets.” She started firing before Bellamy could retort. Three shots to make the Kings duck back before he stood and took over covering fire. Clarke hit the seat of the rolling chair nearest to her, keeping her body tucked behind the back as she rushed forward, firing over the arm.

When she hit the low, decorative wall the Kings were using to shield themselves, Clarke hauled the chair up and tossed it at the King rising on her right, before sliding around the left side of the wall and out of view. When the flying chair broke the Kings line of sight Bellamy raced forward, ducking underneath the airborne office furniture to put a bullet in the ganger on the left who’d been headed for Clarke and then dropping into cover.

Slamming a new magazine into her gun, Clarke vaulted over the barrier already firing. Bellamy took more careful aim, neatly picking off the two remaining in the conference room. They hit either side of the open door at the same time, both panting and half laughing with the adrenaline. When the first King tentatively edged out into the room Bellamy elbowed him in the face and stole the rifle in one smooth motion as Clarke dropped to one knee and fired three times into the mass of yellow-clad gangers rushing down then hall towards him.

“Time to go!” She straightened.

Bellamy fired his pistol twice into the control panel for the door. It sparked and the alarms still going overhead doubled in their ferocity but the door remained open. “Huh.” Was all he managed before Clarke was shoving him back into the sealed off hallway at a dead run. They cornered just as the first shots pinged off the bulkhead behind them and almost ran right in to Roma

“Oh good you’re alive.” Roma looked up from where she was pouring two different chemicals into an old bucket. “Get moving.”

Bellamy headed for the storage room but Clarke hesitated. “Is that going to explode?”

“What do you take me for?” Roma shook her head. “It’s gas. Or it will be if you let me finish!” She wrenched the cap off a third bottle and waved it meaningfully at Clarke.

Roma dropped the bottle in the bucket and kicked it; sending the container skidding into the approaching Kings just as smoke started to pour out of it. They both scrambled back together, slamming the closet door against the billows of choking gas. “Nice,” Clarke coughed as she helped Roma into the tunnel, clambering in after her and sliding the hatch’s emergency lock into place. “Come on, we better go see if Green’s gotten himself killed.”

 

* * *

 

They made it more than halfway before sounds of pursuit began to echo down the maintenance tunnel and they were forced to break into as much of a run as possible when bent nearly double. Clarke was fairly certain Bellamy would be sporting a truly impressive bruise on his forehead from the pipes in the ceiling so she didn’t protest when he edged past her to be the first one out at the end.

Throwing the lock open, Bellamy lifted the hatch halfway then jerked back, managing to catch it just before it banged closed.

“What?”

“Guards,” He grit his teeth in frustration. “They’ve blocked off the hall. We should have moved the bodies.”

The thumping of Kings coming up behind them grew louder. There was no room to fight in the cramped space. If they were caught they would all die in here. “Are they watching the hatch?”

“No, but we’re not getting the three of us out of here without them sounding the alarm.”

“So we draw them off.” Roma said.

Clarke blinked at her. “Do you mean use the Kings? Because I don’t –“

“No,” Roma cut Clarke off, handing her pistol to Bellamy and peeling off her purple over shirt. “Me; I’ll distract them.”

“Roma, no.” Bellamy tried to push the pistol back but she just shook her head.

“We don’t have time for anything else.”

 Clarke caught her shoulder. “They’ll send you to the skybox.”

“I might just get a warning,” She shrugged. “And I’m almost eighteen.”

“If you get arrested they could still float you.”

“They’re not going to float me. I promise,” She placed a quick kiss on Bellamy’s lips, then leaned over and pecked Clarke’s cheek too. “See you in a few months.” Roma winked at them and slipped out the hatch.

Clarke caught the door before it could bump closed and put her eye to the crack. Through the narrow gap she could see Roma back up a few steps down the hall and pause; then her whole expression changed from calm to an amazing imitation of hysterical and frantic, and she bolted right for the guardsmen.

Clarke jerked her head to the other side of the hatch so she could follow the movement, her forehead colliding with Bellamy’s chin. They were too far away to hear what was being said but when one of the guards tried to restrain her, Roma lashed out in feigned panic. The guards had her in handcuffs in a matter of seconds and Bellamy went tense against Clarke’s back, only relaxing when they fished out her ID chip and one shouted “We’ll let you cool off in the skybox!”

Bellamy sighed and Clarke drew back from watching the guards pull Roma away to see the muscle in his jaw twitching. “She’ll be fine.” Clarke assured him.

“You can’t know that,” He grunted. “She shouldn’t have had to go down for us.”

“It’s a few months, like she said,” She bumped his shoulder. It was too late to worry now.  “That’s what you get for cradle robbing and dating criminal teenagers.” 

“I’m only twenty-two!” Bellamy elbowed her. “And Roma and I aren’t like that.”

“Sure,” Clarke bit off a teasing retort as the reason he and Roma might not actually be together dawned on her. “Oh, because of Octavia?”

He went still for a breath then gave an exaggerated shrug, moving to shove the hatch open instead of answering. “Looks like they’re gone.”

Clarke scrambled out after him. “We’ve got to get to the silo,” She told him. “Come on, Roma’s distraction won’t last forever.”

Bellamy snatched up a shock stick that had been dropped by one of the guards and jammed it – still electrified – into the locking mechanism of the maintenance hatch. The metal started to hum with current. Whoever tried to open it from the inside was going to get a very nasty shock.  

“Okay,” Bellamy nodded in approval at his handiwork. “Now we can go.”

 

* * *

 

The elevator doors opened onto the top floor of the silo just in time for them to watch a sparkly blur tear past into the nearest unit. Clarke and Bellamy rushed out and almost collided with Green who was running up the stairs from the level below. From the sweat beaded on his brow, he must have chased Zoe up all seven levels of the silo but he still managed to slip nimbly around them shouting “Get after her!” and charging ahead through the door.

“You son of a bitch!” Zoe twisted as she ran, turning to fire back at them and Bellamy dove to tackle Green into cover. Clarke shrunk back against the opposite wall to avoid the blast, and had a clear vantage to watch the force of the shotgun push Zoe off balance in her dubious heels.

She stepped out of hiding at the same time Bellamy and Green recovered. They took three shots in one cacophonous burst of noise and Zoe went flying back, hit the balcony edge and tumbled over with a shriek, just barely managing to seize the rail before she plummeted.

All three of them stepped in close, watching her try to haul herself up as her legs kicked out over empty space. “Please,” She begged hysterically. “Help!” Blood was streaming from the gunshots that had pierced her abdomen. Even if they didn’t let her fall, Clarke knew Zoe wouldn’t survive. “Matteo, sweetheart-“

“You had your shot little girl,” Green did not look inclined to be merciful. He loomed over her, aiming the barrel of his gun right between her eyes. “You never should have tried to take me down.”

“Take you down?” Zoe’s pleading expression twisted back to anger. “Oh, that’s just fucking precious! We built you up from nothing. If it wasn’t for me-“

“Say goodnight Zoe.”

“Go to hell, Matteo.”  Before he could squeeze the trigger she lashed out for the gun, knocking it off center at the cost of her grip. Both Clarke and Bellamy started forwards, to catch her but it was too late. Her fingers slipped from the railing and she fell, screaming, to hit the floor far below with a wet crunch.

“Fuck me.” Bellamy breathed. Green and Clarke just nodded, dumbly in unison. It took all of them a moment to stop staring and back away.

“Should we move her?” Clarke asked, desperately hoping the answer was no.

“Someone will have heard that,” Green shook his head. “Even on Agro the guards will come around eventually. Better that we’re not caught with a body when they do.”

“No backup.” Bellamy mused, as they walked back through the abandoned unit. "I guess she really thought she wouldn't need it."

Green shook his head. “I thought she was smart enough to realize you can’t fuck your way out of every problem.”

“It sounded like you had history.”

“She wishes” Green scoffed. “I wasn’t letting her close enough to shank me. Why, you tempted?

Clarke wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a fan of hepatitis, thanks.”

Green laughed. “I appreciate your help handling my business.”

“Not your business anymore.” Bellamy said pointedly.

“Don’t worry baby boy, I know the score,” The three of them stopped at the elevator, but Green gestured past them down the corridor that lead to Alpha. “Best I get going. Lots to do, thanks to you.” He winked at Clarke.

“Likewise.” She agreed; shaking his offered hand firmly.

“That was a little anticlimactic.” Bellamy reflected as they watched Green head for Alpha station.

“Well maybe now you can sit your busted ass down and let your leg actually heal.” Clarke tried to offer him a shoulder to lean on as he limped into the elevator, but he just smacked her away.

“Fuck that. I’m fine.”

“Sure you are. You didn’t need my help with anything.”

“Damn straight.”

“So Octavia,” Clarke began and watched Bellamy go rigid, again. “Seriously?”

“I’m not used to being able to talk about her!” He protested. “It’s only been a secret for sixteen years.”

“Well I know now. And it’s cool. So deal with it.”

“Okay, alright. Its fine,” He exhaled heavily. “I’m good.”

“She’s pretty cute though.”

“Princess you stay the fuck away from my sister.”

Clarke laughed at him the whole way back to the church.

 

* * *

 

Music rattled the floorboards thumping along with Clarke’s heartbeat. She tipped her head back and grinned. People were dancing and drinking, a few small groups were tucked into corners passing pipes around. Someone she didn’t recognize swept by and passed her a new cup and Clarke raised it to toast him. Half a dozen Saints repeated the gesture with a cheer.

“Alright Boss!”

Clarke pumped a fist into the air and gulped down half the drink in one long swallow. It burned like fire but the taste was actually much better than she’d gotten used to. Perks of running the stills, she smirked.

“Watch yourself there kid,” Shumway came up on her shoulder, leaning against the crate Clarke had perched on. “That shit’s pretty strong.”

She turned her smile on him. “I think we’ve earned it, don’t you?”

“Too right,” He chuckled. ”We did it. The Saints own the whole Ark now. Not to say that it didn’t cost us.”

Clarke looked into her cup, thinking of Trent, of Rachel.

“I’m not talking about our losses,” Shumway corrected. “Our people joined because they wanted to fight, they all knew the risks. I’m talking about the people we rolled over on the way; someday that’s going to come down on us.” He looked unbothered by the idea and some of Clarke’s incredulity must have been obvious because he quirked and eyebrow her way and smiled. “Hey, we did the right thing. Believe me, with the Floaters and Kings gone there won’t be any more gang infighting; and in the end that’s going to save more lives than we took.”

The lives they’d taken might have bought them another two months, if they were lucky. She considered her drink and her options. Shumway was their leader; maybe he would have an idea, if she could explain. “Shumway –“ She began.

He cut her off with a smile and a hand on her shoulder. “You impressed me, kid, impressed the hell out of me. So relax; you’ve earned the break.” He stood, straitening his cuffs

“Are you not staying?”

“Nah, I’m gonna head out and check on Matteo, the boys don’t want to play with the chief watching.”

Clarke looked over the bouncing crowd, a few of them stopping to wave when they noticed Shumway there. “They don’t seem to mind.” She started but he waved her off.

“I’ll see you around, kid. Enjoy yourself.”

He slipped away, the Saints parting for him as he went. Clarke considered the party and downed the rest of her drink. She would talk the problem over with Shumway tomorrow; tonight was for celebrating. To her left she saw Red being totally ignored by Shas and her redheaded friend – whose name Clarke figured she should probably learn since, the girls tongues were getting up close and personal. They broke the kiss and Shas caught Clarke’s eye, encouraging her over.

Clarke slid into the crowd with a grin. The redhead caught Clarke’s hand and twirled her into their little circle. Her swollen lips were moving as she sang along to the music but it was so loud Clarke couldn’t hear a thing. Instead she lost herself in the sound and the rhythm, the press of bodies leaving her feeling euphoric and cocooned all at once. As the song petered out she stepped back from the two of them, waving Shas off when she looked momentarily concerned.

Clarke stumbled out of the bulk of the crowd, edging around the knot of people who were pouring shots into a laughing girl’s bellybutton. She wound her way over to the drink table, seizing a cup from the stacks.

A hand reached over to pluck it from her fingers and Bellamy took the keg hose to fill it. “Hey Princess,” He smirked but it was tempered to something softer than he probably intended. “You think Octavia would like this?”

“You said her name!” Clarke grinned. “Without panicking first.”

“Oh fuck off,” Bellamy screwed his face up in distaste but it barely lasted more than a breath before he was smiling again. “I was thinking of bringing her to the masquerade. On Unity Day?”

“That’s coming up soon isn’t it?

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Have you got a mask for her?”

“What?” Bellamy blinked in surprise, staring at her. “I – You think it’s a good idea?”

“Of course,” Clarke tapped her cup against his. “She deserves a chance to get outside.”

“Would you…”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the wold.” She nodded. “But,” She held up a hand to forestall his smile. “I get to ask her for a dance.”

“Not a chance, Princess, He shook his head, something soft lurking at the edge of his sharp smile. “I’m the oldest, I get the first dance.”

Clarke didn’t get the chance to ask whether he meant with her or Octavia before Atom and another of Bellamy’s boys appeared to drag him back towards the floor. She raised her drink to him in salute as he disappeared into the mass of dancers.

 

* * *

 

 


	4. Force Majeure

 

She woke up, hung over, at the sound of shift change, decided that there was nothing in the world worth being conscious for and went right back to sleep.

 

Clarke managed to drag herself into the shower around noon and felt well enough afterwards to head for the church. Even this late in the day it was mostly deserted; the few Saints scattered around were talking in very quiet voices.

“Shumway back yet?” She asked. The others all shook their heads, a few of them groaning at the movement. Charlotte was perched on the table Shumway usually used when assembling a council or laying out plans, shuffling and reshuffling a stack of cards with an expression of terminal boredom on her face. 

“Nothing going on?” Clarke leaned against the tabletop to watch.

Charlotte groaned. “Nothing.”

“Want to play go fish?”

The playing cards sprayed everywhere as Charlotte’s hands faltered. “Isn’t there any work I could do?”

Clarke considered the mess. “You could pick those up.” She said archly. But when Charlotte hopped down she bent over to help scrape the cards up, ignoring the way it made her temples pound.

“Honestly though,” Charlotte wiggled out from under the table with the last jack held triumphantly aloft. “Is there anything for me to do? Everyone’s so boring today.”

“That’s because they spent the night not being boring,” Clarke laughed. “But, if you’re aching for something you could run out to Alpha and see if Shumway is still at Green’s new place.”

“I can do that,” Charlotte perked up. “No one will look twice at me.”

“Thant’s because you haven’t done anything wrong,” Clarke tweaked the end of Charlotte’s braid. “Be careful though, okay? If you see the guards you stay away.”

Charlotte was out the door like a shot, calling “I will!” over her shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Clarke didn’t really start to worry until the cafs opened for dinner service.

Then she made it everyone’s problem.

“Its fine,” Red said for the third time in as many minutes. “I’m sure they just got caught up.”

“It’s been hours!” Clarke slammed her fist down on the table. “Even if Charlotte never found him, Shumway should be back by now or he should be answering the radio.”

“Shumway can take care of himself, Princess.” Bellamy sounded nonchalant but there was worry in his face, Clarke could see it.

“And Charlotte?”

“I’ve got people looking for Charlotte.”

Atom burst in as if summoned, with a panting black boy in tow. “Bellamy!”

“What is it?”

“Charlotte’s in the skybox,” the boy said between heaving gulps of air. “I saw them bringing her in while I was delivering for our people.”

“What the hell did they catch her for? Did she say anything?”

“I don’t know why they nabbed her,” He said apologetically. “I don’t even think she saw me, and the guards weren’t talking.”

“There’s no chatter about them catching Shumway.” Atom reported before Bellamy could even ask.

All three of their radio’s hissed on at once and Red looked relieved. “See, I told you he was fine.”

  _“You’re correct; for now,”_ The voice that came over the speakers wasn’t Shumway’s, it was a woman. Her voice a low drawl that sounded vaguely familiar. _“But that can change.”_

“Who the fuck is this?”

_“Who I am isn’t important. If you want Shumway back, you’ll stop running your mouth and do what I say. All these stunts you’ve been pulling have been interfering with my schedule. Think it’s high time you earned what you’ve taken.”_

Red opened his mouth but Clarke’s hand shot out to cover it before he could say anything. She nodded at Bellamy, trusting him to ask the right questions. “What do you want?”

_“I knew you could be reasonable. Trust me, you’ll like this,”_

“Don’t be so fucking sure,” Bellamy growled, too low for the radio to pick up.

_“I want the chancellor taken out of play. Find Wells Jaha and make sure whatever’s left of him is enough to break Thelonius forever,”_ She demanded. _“Get it done by morning or I’ll start sending you pieces of your leader. Don’t disappoint me; Shumway is counting on you.”_

The radios clicked off and Red snatched his up to throw it across the room. “Motherfucker!”

Atom looked stricken and Bellamy’s fists were clenched tight as he visibly seethed but Clarke couldn’t react at all. Everything felt muffled and far away.

“I need a team ready to hit Alpha station,” Bellamy said at last. “Atom, get them together. No more than four; anyone who’s good with a weapon or sneaking around.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” Red rounded on Bellamy as Atom ducked out. “We are not going to be able to take an _assassination_ _squad_ onto Alpha station! We don’t even know where Jaha lives!”

“So we’ll find out.”

“That is not a plan!”

“You have any fucking better ideas?!” Bellamy roared. “Shumway is gone and we need him back!”

“So we should all just die in the process?”

“No one is doing anything.” Clarke said, just loud enough to carry over the room.

Both men stopped to look at her. “Oh perfect,” Red threw his hands in the air. “We’ll just wait for that bitch to send back Shumway’s head in a box –“

“You two are going to stay here and keep everyone calm,” Clarke spoke right over him. “Don’t do anything stupid. I can get Jaha.”

“Princess, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I can get Wells Jaha,” She offered. “And I can bring him here. But if I do, he lives.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” She snapped.

“Leaving aside the question of how you would get to the fucking _Chancellor’s kid_ ,” Red said. “And why the hell we’d let the little fucker live when his dad has been perfectly happy to float all our families. The fucking radio voice said it was either him or Shumway.”

“She didn’t say kill him,” Clarke reminded them. “She said destroy Thelonius.”

“And how the fuck do you suppose we manage that?” Red wasn’t sneering or shouting, he honestly looked like he wanted an answer. Bellamy just raised his brows, waiting.

“I don’t know,” Clarke admitted. “But those are my terms and if you want this to happen before tomorrow morning, I need an answer.”

“Who is Wells Jaha to you, Princess? Why would you do this for him?”

Clarke drew a deep breath and met his gaze. “What wouldn’t you do?” _For Octavia_ , hung unspoken in the air.

Bellamy stared for a long moment before nodding. “Okay.”

“Seriously?” Red sighed.

“Bring Jaha here,” Bellamy agreed. “And no one kills him.”

“Look forward to you explaining that to the crew,” They both turned to glare at Red and he rolled his eyes. “The two of you have lost your fucking minds.”

 

* * *

 

Wells was just where he said he’d be at shift change, in the caf on Hydro station, carefully stirring his meal to get the best sauce to protein ratio per bite. Clarke had doubled back and taken three detours on her way from the church to be sure that Red or Bellamy hadn’t sent someone after her. But just seeing Wells, patient and methodical about even the smallest things, had her certain she was making the right choice. Clarke wasn’t letting anything happen to him. She’d hide him under the floor with Octavia if she had to. 

He gave her a blinding smile when she slid into the seat across from him. “You came.”

“I did,” She nodded. “But not to bring your hoodie back.”

Wells, always perceptive, picked up on her mood. “Are we-“ He reached awkwardly under his jacket and Clarke realized he had a gun in a shoulder holster.

“Someone wants you dead and they’re blackmailing the Saints into it.” She explained. “When did you start carrying?”

“When my best friend joined a gang,” He scanned the half-filled cafeteria. “Not here, okay? There are too many people, someone else could get hurt.”

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Clarke said loudly enough that a few heads turned in their direction. “Do you think I’m actually here to kill you?”

He gave her a slightly abashed look. “Well not now.”

“Wells!” She hit him in the arm until he held up his hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay. No I didn’t,” He bussed his tray and they slipped out through the kitchen, ignoring the strange looks from the overworked staff. “Your face was pretty funny though.”

“This is serious! Someone snatched our leader. They threatened to start sending pieces of him back to us if we don’t get you out of the way.”

“Really? That’s crazy,” Wells let the silence build and Clarke knew he was waiting for a plan she didn’t have. “So what are we doing?”

“I’m kidnapping you.”

He looked from Clarkes face to her holstered gun and the empty hallway around them. “As kidnappings go this doesn’t seem so bad.”

“It’s just to buy us time while we figure out what to do. The blackmailer never actually said we had to kill you, just ‘break’ your dad. So hopefully you disappearing will at least look like we’re doing something.”

“Break my dad?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Wouldn’t work,” Wells declared. “Even if you had a gun to my head he wouldn’t put my life over being chancellor.”

“Come on Wells.”

“I’m serious. He’d say something poignant about not giving in to violence and that would be that.”

“Huh,” Clarke scoffed bitterly. “I guess no one’s life is worth as much as his fancy job.”

“Clarke.” Wells reached out as though he wanted to put an arm around her shoulder but Clarke stepped smartly back out of range.

“My dad is dead, Wells! And not even because he committed a crime,” Thelonius wasn’t the only person on the council and a blind man could see it wasn’t an easy job, but he had the final vote and Clarke was still so viciously angry. “My dad got floated because _your_ dad was scared of the truth.”

“I know.”

“What?” Clarke almost tripped over nothing but her own feet.

“I said I know.” Wells wouldn’t look at her. “It’s not right, the way we’re doing things. The lengths we’re driving people to; just sticking to the charter because it’s the charter. None of its right. Maybe I _should_ join your gang,” He huffed a laugh. “That won’t stop my dad, but it might do a number on his brain.”

“You could not handle our selection process.” She teased after a moment, happy for the distraction.

“I’m pretty tough,” he curled one arm to show off his bicep and nodded smugly at the size of it through his coat. “How do you become a Saint, anyway?”

Clarke’s brain tugged at the question, like she’d forgotten something important. “They all beat the crap out of you.” She said absently

"Really?"

“They call it canonization,” The feeling was like a splinter. “I had to fight five guys.“

“Did you win?”

“Oh yeah, but I looked half- dead when it was over. Blood every-“ Clarke cut herself off as the niggling in her mind became an idea. She turned to Wells with a brilliant smile. “We’re going to need a video camera.” She told him. “And you’re going to need something purple to put on.”

 

* * *

 

To say the mood of the church when they walked in was icy would be a monumental understatement.

When Clarke had strolled into Saints territory with her gun in her hand and Wells Jaha at her back no one had stopped her because no one knew what to do. As a crowd had formed behind them individual surprise had turned into collective, palpable anger.

Shumway’s table had been moved aside and Red, Salujah and Bellamy were arranged on the raised platform at the far end of the church. From the way her eyes widened when she caught sight of Wells, Salujah clearly hadn’t been let in on the plan. Bellamy’s face was impassive; Red looked livid but didn’t speak, which gave Clarke the opportunity to start this out the way she wanted.

“I brought you a new recruit.”

Among a more restrained group, a statement like that would have raised a susurrus of whispered conversation. The Saints started shouting. Clarke kept her eyes on the front. Red appeared to be trying to hold on to his anger around the rising urge to start either laughing or swearing; his throat was working and he looked constipated. 

“Wells Jaha wants to join the Sky Saints?” Salujah said slowly.

Bellamy gave Clarke a look that screamed ‘ _This_ was the best you could come up with?’

“I do.” Wells spoke for the first time. His voice was calm, though Clarke could practically feel the tension radiating from him. If this went bad it was going to go really bad.

“Why?” Someone in the crowd shouted.

“Because I don’t agree with the council either,” Wells answered. “I don’t agree with my father or the way he runs things. And I know nothing is going to change on its own.”

“Hell of a sentiment,” Bellamy replied before anyone else had the chance to derail the show. “And Shumway always said at each other’s throats is just where they want us. But we don’t just let anyone wander in and fly our colours. If he wants to be a Saint, he’s gotta be canonized!”

There was a roar of approval from the assembled Saints. Clarke pulled the small camera from her pocket and held Wells’ stuff as he stripped off his weapon. “You ready for this?”

“Ready to get the shit kicked out of me?” He shrugged. “Not really.”

“Make it look good for the camera.” She told him, and backed towards the front of the room; leaving Wells all alone in a church full of people who wanted him dead.

“I won’t let it go too far,” She jerked her head up to see Bellamy standing above her. His gaze stayed fixed on the crowd and his lips barely moved at all. “But this had better work.” He turned to Red and Salujah, who both offered a nod. Then, in a voice designed to carry he yelled “Blood in, blood out!”

“Blood in, blood out!” Clarke cried in unison with the rest of the Saints.

Wells held his own for a minute or two.

He was a big guy and sparring lessons with Clarke over the years had trained him to be faster than most people with his bulk would be naturally.

So, when four Saints stepped up to surround him, Clarke wasn’t surprised that he landed the first punch. Wells caught the one in front with a neat cross, then backhanded the guy on his left before the Saint could bring his hands up.  One of them tried to grab him by the shoulders from behind, but Wells just ducked out of his jacket and spun around to kick him squarely in the gut. He caught the fourth man’s swing across his upraised forearm, moving under his guard; only to take the full force of a strike at his kidneys when the first guy recovered enough to barrel into him.

Wells stumbled into the second Saint, but managed to recover, twisting so that the girl’s punch went past him and connected with her friend’s face. Wells moved to seize her outstretched arm and took a hard blow to the jaw; leaving him dazed while two others caught him by the shoulders.

After that it got a little violent.

Clarke watched the fight through the viewfinder of her little camera, keeping the image on Wells and avoiding everyone else’s face. She tried not to flinch or throw herself into the fray every time someone clocked Wells or shouted something derogatory about the Chancellor.  

“Alright!” Bellamy’s voice carried over the din. “That’s enough.”

Most of the Saints backed off; circling, bloody and angry. A few stayed to get in another hit.

“He’s had enough!”

He dropped off the makeshift stage, stalking over to where one Saint had gotten Wells on the ground, holding him by his shirt collar and striking him again and again.

“I said enough!” Bellamy’s kick landed squarely in the Saint’s ribs, flinging him to one side. “You stop when I tell you to stop!”

“He’s the fucking Chancellor’s son!” The Saint screamed back, defiant even from the floor.

“And now he’s a fucking Saint! You have his back, or it’s you who’s gonna end up bleeding on the floor!” Bellamy rounded on the crowd. “Blood in, blood out.”

“Blood in, blood out.” Red and Salujah repeated from their place on the stage and Clarke could feel the mood in the room shift

“And fuck the Chancellor,” Bellamy reached out to pull Wells to his feet, and raised their linked hands into the air. “Now Jaha’s one of us!”

“Sky Saints!” Clarke shouted and the crowd picked it up almost automatically, first an echo then a cheer.

 

* * *

 

The video ended up being pretty convincing once Nos, the Saint’s tech expert, had clipped it down to just the images of Wells getting beaten and the shot Clarke had gotten after Bellamy had kicked the last Saint off him. His face was just one mass of blood and from that angle it was impossible to see he was still breathing

Not that Wells had gotten off lightly or anything - Clarke had to reset his broken nose and bind his bruised ribs once the crowd had cleared and she’d gotten him back to the safe house – but the damage was mostly superficial and would heal quickly compared with how bad it looked onscreen.

They’d read Nos into the situation because they needed his ability to hack into the emergency broadcast system for the Ark. With time ticking away and no idea who they were being blackmailed by or where to send their proof, Red had finally insisted that they just send the video to everyone. Clarke was sure there was a joke in the whole thing somewhere about what had happened the last time she’d seen someone try to use the emergency network, but every time she thought too hard about her dad’s never-seen video she wanted to throw up.

Nos’s typing fell silent and he craned his head around to look at them. “It’s ready.”

There was a pregnant silence in the room and Clarke was the one who moved to nod first. “Do it.”

The escalating tones that indicated a broadcast spilled through the ship and the screen flashed the official Ark symbol for a few seconds before their clip started to play with no introduction. Clarke was numb to the spectacle after seeing it so many times but she could imagine Thelonius standing somewhere on Alpha station and watching what looked like his son’s death the way Clarke had watched her father’s.

When their radios clicked on one breathless minute later and their blackmailer’s voice said “ _Well done_.” she felt recklessly triumphant.

**“** _But I don't think I can let Shumway go until you do a little more community service”_ The voice continued and Clarke’s good mood sank like a stone. _“I'll be in touch._ "

"Looks like we wait." Red sighed.

"Why? So we can let this jag-off jerk us around?” Bellamy protested. “Fuck that."

"And what would you rather do?"

"You know exactly what I'd like to do."

“Fighting the guard and taking over Alpha station is not going to fix this.” Red said with the air of someone who’d had this argument before. Clarke gave Bellamy her most expressive ‘what the hell?’ look, but he shrugged it off.

"I'm just saying it would solve a lot of problems."

"And if they're keeping Shumway there?" She pointed out.

"Alright, but there's gotta be a better plan than "let’s sit around until the Scary Voice calls us"."

Nos cleared his throat, attracting everyone’s attention. “I might be able to find him; if they’re moving him or holding him somewhere with a camera feed.”

“It’s not likely.” Red mused.

“But it’s better than nothing.” Clarke squeezed Nos’ shoulder in approval. “How long do you think it will take?”

“Not sure, Boss,” He said, already typing. “Maybe a day?”

Bellamy made a noise of frustration. “Anything could happen to him in a day.”

“Except Scary Voice wants us to do something else,” Clarke reminded him. “And she needs Shumway alive to keep us in line. All we have to do is play along until Nos finds him.”

Red nodded in agreement and they slipped out to give the techie some space. “I’ll set up a guard and a runner,” he offered. “Keep him in ration bars and have someone let us know when he finds Shumway.”

“I guess I’ll just try not to break anything.” Bellamy muttered as they watched Red walk away.

Clarke turned to him, surprised.  “Don’t you have a party to help someone get ready for?”

“Come on Princess,” He gave her an unhappy sort of smirk. “They think little Jaha’s dead. There is no way the Ark is going ahead with Unity Day.”

 

* * *

 

The Ark went ahead with Unity Day.

In spite of the morning being dominated by the ‘death’ of the Chancellor’s son, no events were cancelled. Oddly, it seemed to endear Wells to the Saints. Even the man who had to be forced back from Wells’ canonization wandered by to clap him on the shoulder and say “That shit is cold, man.”

The delighted grin Wells turned on Clarke once he’d walked away made him look all of nine years old.

Clarke just bent her head over the mask she was working on to hide her smile. Bellamy had passed it to her for approval this morning, once they’d both managed a couple hours of sleep. Clarke had stared from him to the badly shaped piece of scrap metal and made a face.

“This is completely hideous.”

He’d shrugged uncomfortably. “I was going to borrow one of Roma’s.”

 “I’ll wear this one.” She sighed. “And I’ll make her something decent.”

So she’d begged an old mask off Shas and spent the day painting it with colours she’d picked up from the black market. The final result was Saint’s purple with a smooth metallic sheen, on which Clarke had picked out a galaxy’s worth of tiny stars in silver spirals.

Wells needled her about who she wanted to attract at the dance until she was forced to retaliate by poking his bruises with her paintbrush, but it was worth it for the naked gratitude on Bellamy’s face when she passed over the finished product.

The mask looked beautiful on Octavia, or maybe that was just the way she was glowing with excitement when Clarke met the two of them in the hall. Her delight was obvious even before she almost knocked Clarke to the ground with the force of her hug. “This is amazing!” She exclaimed. “Did you see the earth out the window?”

Clarke saw Bellamy grin fit to break his face behind Octavia’s head, not even trying to hide it, and she realized she was smiling too. “It’s a good view.”

“Come on, O,” Bellamy took her hand. “There’s more.”

They weren’t the only Saints at the party by a long shot. Atom attached himself to Bellamy as soon as he found their little group - sparing more than one glance at Octavia - and Clarke saw Shas’ redheaded girlfriend amid the dancers; both of them were wearing purple masks, and there were more than a few others in the same colour swirling through the crowd.  Octavia pulled Clarke onto the floor with her but they lost each other quickly; Octavia more interested in spinning giddily to the music. Clarke caught her bright grin and a flash of dark hair every so often, never in the same place for long. She found herself laughing as she moved along with the dancers, almost drunk on borrowed joy.

The song switched from the thumping beat to a slower rhythm and Clarke pushed her way out of the crowd to lean against a wall and catch her breath. Before she could pull off her mask to get more cool air, the music was cut off by the drone of an emergency klaxon.

_“Solar flare alert. An x-class solar flare has begun on the starboard side of the ark. All citizens must report to the nearest shelter zone immediately. This is not a test. This is a solar flare alert.”_ Clarke’s stomach dropped at the sound of the robotically calm recording.  

People started to mill around with the general restless anxiety that always accompanied an emergency action. Through the crowd she spotted a dark head in a purple mask backing towards the wall: Octavia.

She pushed her way towards the girl but saw Bellamy reach her first, Octavia sagging in relief as he appeared. “Bell, I need to get home.” Clarke drew closer but the Blake’s were focused on one another.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you know the drill,” half a dozen guardsmen came marching in through the hall from Alpha. Their sergeant had an expression on his face that said the whole emergency protocol was a massive personal inconvenience.  “Masks off, Id-chips out.”

“Bell what do we do?” Octavia’s voice was scared but she kept it low, if Clarke hadn’t been listening for it she wouldn’t have heard anything at all. The purple masked Saints were shifting through the crowd, backing away from the guards with as much subtlety as they could manage. Atom knocked against Clarke’s shoulder as he moved toward Bellamy, but she caught his arm.

“Not yet.” She said. Atom gave her a suspicious look but didn’t protest. .

“Listen to me, whatever happens you get back home,” Bellamy was instructing, just barely audible under the din.“ Get under the floor. You’ll be safe there from the flare, like always.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Create a distraction.” He drew a gun from the back of his waistband.  “Go on.” Octavia nodded and slipped into the crowd.

“Okay, now go.” Clarke didn’t wait for Atom to follow her; she shifted the fall of her jacket to clear her own weapon and joined Bellamy in three steps.

He looked from her to Atom and some of the hunted wariness dropped from his eyes. “Ready to party?”

Atom opened his mouth, to agree or berate Bellamy for his recklessness Clarke wasn’t sure because he was interrupted by Octavia grabbing desperately at Bellamy’s arm. “Bell, how do I get home?”

Clarke swore she could see the blood drain from his face as his eyes darted to Atom. She stepped forward instead. “Octavia, Atom will take you back. Okay?” the request for confirmation was more for Bellamy’s benefit then hers. He swallowed hard but when he nodded in agreement Octavia followed suit. “Atom, don’t ask any questions and don’t get caught. Just take her to Bellamy’s unit.”

“Got it.” He said loyally and Clarke reminded herself to do something nice for him in the future. He took Octavia’s wrist and tugged her lightly along, right in time to turn and come face to face with the sergeant.

“Masks off,” he droned and reached out to pluck the domino from Octavia’s face. She froze like a frightened animal. None of them were even breathing. “ID,” The man continued, no idea that he’d just cracked two worlds in half. Clarke opened her mouth but nothing came out. Beside her she could feel Bellamy’s arm start to come up, drawing the gun currently hidden by the line of her body. Clarke dipped her head, pretending to reach up and remove her mask and hoping that the motion would disguise her going for her own gun.  The sergeant huffed in irritation. “ID, now.”

Octavia broke and ran. She dodged around Bellamy’s protective arm and Atom’s shoulder and sprinted for the hall. “Stop her!” The sergeant yelled.

The guards caught Octavia before she‘d made it even halfway to the door, one cadet gripping either arm and spinning her back to face the sergeant. Her expression without the mask was nakedly terrified. Bellamy surged forwards and Clarke grabbed two handfuls of his jacket just in time to throw all her weight in the other direction and haul him backwards through the crowd.

“Octavia!”

He lunged again, but Atom blocked him and between them he and Clarke knocked Bellamy back against the wall. Reaching out she seized Atom by the lapel, pulling him down so they were face to face. “Get to her,” Clarke demanded, in deadly earnest. “You do whatever you have to but you go with Octavia to skybox and you protect her.” Atom nodded, confused but determined. “Good. Go!” Clarke used her grip to shove him away and had just enough time to see him lunge at the sergeant’s back before Bellamy tried to push past her again.

“Enough!” Clarke grabbed his face in both hands and forced him to look at her. “It’s too late, Bellamy!”

“I can’t-“

“Atom will watch her. She’s under eighteen; she’ll go to lock up. But it won’t take them long to find out who she is, and when they do the guard will come for your mother.”

The colour that rage had brought to his face visibly drained away. “Mom…”

“Do you know where she is?”

“I can get to her.”

“If they catch you, they will float you, Bellamy.” She said fiercely. “You can’t get caught, okay?”

“Okay,” He breathed. “Okay.”

Clarke let go and pushed him in the direction of the door where the fewest guards were swarming. “Run.”

Bellamy took one last long look at Octavia and then bolted before the guards could lay a hand on him. Clarke put him out of her thoughts; the sergeant and his men were checking ID chips and that could not be allowed to happen. Aside from the fact that she was on the run, there was more than one Saint wanted for a crime here. Even if they passed the scan, being penned in to wait out the solar flare would make them sitting ducks when it was over. She needed to get them back to Factory; the church was interior and could probably protect them.

There was half a squad blocking the corridor to Alpha, where they were hauling Octavia and Atom away; two in the hall to the right, arguing over whether to go after Bellamy; but only one guard at the door which lead to the lower levels of Factory station. All the Saints were in masks and the guardsmen were distracted. Clarke couldn’t have asked for a better chance.

She locked eyes with a Saint, motioning for him to follow and they fell into step, pulling another two along. The sergeant had recovered and signaled his men forward. One stepped up to Shas’ girlfriend, seizing her wrist so he could scan her ID chip.

“Monroe –“ He cut off with a surprised sound when the scanner in his hand beeped, and looked back up at her with a nasty grin. “Looks like you’re coming with me.

“The fuck she is.” Clarke shoved her way between them, breaking his grip and herding Monroe back. The crowd shifted, turning its attention to this new altercation.

“You will surrender,” the guard ordered, tucking away the scanner. “Failure to comply will result in detainment.".

“Saints don’t surrender.” She snarled at him.

The guard’s eyes went wide and he jerked his head around looking for backup. Taking advantage of his distraction Clarke caught the nearest random kid by the shoulders – someone tall and gangly, with goggles in place of a mask – and shoved him into the guard. They collided and went stumbling, taking a wide swath of the crowd to the ground with them. “Come on!” Clarke bolted for the hall to lower Factory and rush of people in purple masks moved with her.

The guard on the door shifted to block them and Clarke stepped in took the hit from his shock stick on her shoulder, giving the Saint coming up behind her an opening to laid him out with one punch. Monroe hauled Clarke up, dragging her along until she found her feet again.

Three levels down they came up against a set of sealed blast doors that blocked the way back to the church. “They’re sealing off for the flare,” Someone shouted as two Saints scrambled to hotwire the access panel. “We’re gonna get roasted!”

“We should have fought the guards!”

“And get everyone floated? You can’t go to a shelter Teo, but I can!”

“Everyone calm down,” Clarke began, but only the Saint right next to her seemed to hear and he wasn’t pleased.

“Calm down? You’re the one who got the guard’s attention in the first place,” He rounded on her, quickly drawing attention their way. “What the hell are we following you for?”

“Because I’m the only one trying to come up with a plan.” She said shortly.

“You got Atom sent to skybox,” He shouted. “And then Blake ran off and left us. Was that part of your plan?”

The Saints who had come to the dance were some one the youngest on the crew and Clarke could see even under the masks that they were nervous, growing more scared with every work out of this kid’s mouth. “Now the guards know where we are and even if they don’t catch us we’re all going to die from the radiation.”

“No one’s going to die. There must be a plan for dealing with flares.”

The assembled Saints shook their heads. “Not really.” Someone admitted.

“Well that was fucking brilliant,” The boy cursed. “Your plan was to see if there was already a plan! No wonder we’re ruling the Ark.”

“If you’d stop fucking yelling and listen to me-”

He shoved her back, using every inch of his height to intimidate. “Give me one good reason why we should!”

Clarke lashed out and landed a solid punch to his jaw. The boy went sprawling to the deck and Clarke stepped close so she could loom over him. “Because if you don’t I’m going to leave you here to slow the guards down. Now shut the fuck up and I will get us through this.”  

The Saints remained silent and Clarke pressed her advantage.  “Okay. Where’s the nearest shelter zone that won’t have too many people?”

“Textile floor.” One of the older girls said. “They close down for third shift on Unity day and there aren’t any housing units down there.”

“Good, “Clarke nodded, nodding the girl ahead. “You show us where. If we hit any guard patrols don’t stop.”

By some miracle they managed to dodge the guard squads long enough to make it down to the Textile level without being seen. There was no one rushing through the halls to shelter on this floor. Clarke waved at the Saints to stay back as they approached the zone entrance, but the lone guard didn’t even look up from his tablet “ID Chip.” He droned.

Clarke pressed the barrel of her gun against his forehead and smiled at him. He seemed more afraid of her than the gun.

“Get his comm. and his weapons.” The nearest pair of Saints scrambled to obey as Clarke kept her attention on the guard. “Is there anyone else in there?”

He swallowed twice before he could manage to stutter out an answer. “N-no.”

“Good,” Clarke said. “You are going to come in with us and shut the blast door and we’re going to wait this out together. If you’re very good and you don’t try anything stupid we’ll let you go once the storm is over,” She pressed the gun in hard enough that he whimpered. “You do anything stupid; I shoot you in the head. Got it?”

He nodded, shaking. “Yes, yes – I understand!”

The shelter zone was really just a long, narrow room close to the interior of the Ark, its reinforced walls lined with whatever lead based material there was to spare. Benches were set against the walls but it was rare to get space on one. In most shelters on residential floors people would be crammed in so tightly it was hard to sit down. Twenty Saints had room to spare but Clarke stayed near the entrance with the guard; watching him shut the door so that he couldn’t sabotage the lock, and keeping herself and her weapon between him and the exit.

The Saints were sorting through everything they’d stripped off the guard when his communicator buzzed where it had been abandoned on a bench. “ _Factory level 8, report_.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow at their prisoner. “It’s my commander,” He explained. “He wants to hear we’re secure.”

She leveled the gun at him again. “Anything else he’s expecting to hear?”

“Just that’s we’re secure; code 01-4.”

“ _Odekar, report!”_

Clarke handed the comm. to the nearest Saint who matched the guard’s age, waving the rest of the room to silence. “Odekar here, sir!” He said, letting the sound of his breathing create static on the line. “We’re all secured here, Oh-one, four.”

“ _Oh one four – Are you compromised Odekar_?!” As one, all the Saints froze. Clarke lifted her eyes to the boy with the comm. and shook her head. “No, sir!” He said quickly. “I meant ten-four, sir. Sorry sir.”

“ _Fuck me, Cadet_ -“

The boy cut off whatever the commander was going to say, hissing a staticky noise right into the mic. “Sorry, sir,” He interspersed with louder fake static. “The flare! – kshh – Can’t hear-“ He thumbed the comm. unit off, tossing it to Clarke as though it burned him.

Next to her, Monroe slumped back against the wall with a sigh of relief. But Clarke’s attention was fixed on their prisoner. “Wait!” He begged, his voice high and frantic. “You can’t do this!”

“You put my people in danger.” She said calmly and squeezed the trigger.

Someone at the back of the shelter whistled long, low and impressed. “Shit, Boss.”

“Fuck yes,” A girl nodded, leaning over to spit on the guard’s body. “Asshole shouldn’t have messed with the Saints.”

The boy whose jaw was rapidly turning purple in the shape of Clarke’s knuckles kicked lightly at her ankle. When she looked up at him he ducked his head. “Shouldn’t have doubted you.”

She holstered her gun and gave him a long look. “Now you know.” She nodded. “Don’t forget.”

When he agreed his voice was solemn, like an oath. “I won’t, Boss.”

 

* * *

 

They entered the church to the sounds of shouting.

There were twenty Saints behind Clarke, all exhausted after spending a night dodging patrols and hacking doors to get them back in one piece; the church had barely half that many and they looked even worse; pacing and shifting uncomfortably as they listened to Bellamy and Red scream at one another.

“Hey!” Clarke shouted over the din.

“Oh thank fuck.” Red said vehemently, Bellamy crossed the room in three strides, stopping just short of Clarke.

“You made it.” He looked relieved but his shoulders were still tight, the muscle in his jaw jumping.

Clarke nodded dismissively. “Aurora?”

“Got her out,” That slid some of the tension off him. “She’s at the safe house with Jaha; we can’t go back to our unit.”

“It’s going to be crowded in there.” Wells, Clarke, Bellamy and his mother all in the one tiny room was not something she was eager to experience. “Is that where you hid from the flare?”

“There was no flare.”

“What do you mean?”

“He means,” Red broke in loudly. “That it was a fucking trap. Someone ratted us out and now we’re all screwed.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There wasn’t an emergency,” Bellamy explained. “The guards somehow knew who all the Saints were, like they had a whole list. They just matched ID-chips and arrested everyone. The whole thing was a fake. I thought they’d gotten you too.”

“We hijacked a shelter point,” Clarke told him absently. “Shot the guard, took it for ourselves.” Bellamy laughed, but she didn’t let him distract her. “This is all that’s left?”

Red ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand straight up in spikes. “We’ve got three of ours knocking on doors right now, looking for anyone on the crew that might have hidden out or escaped. But, yeah. Thirty Saints, no leader and this asshole swinging his dick around.” He jerked a thumb at Bellamy who snarled and rounded on him.

“Just because I don’t want to run and hide like some chicken-shit-”

“Oh yeah, raiding the holding cells is going to go really well.”

“They can’t float everyone at once. We have to be able to save some of them!”

“Can’t float everyone? Listen to yourself!” Red screamed, he looked devastated and Clarke wondered who in particular he was thinking of. “You think the fucking guard is going to send them out one at a time, let them say goodbye to their families? Not a fucking chance. They’re going to load everyone into an airlock and send them all out like fucking trash because we’re not human to them!”

“We’re not gonna let that happen!”

“We don’t have a choice!”

“ _Enough_!”

The room went still and Clarke took a deep breath. “We can’t leave our people to get floated,” Bellamy looked triumphant and Red opened his mouth to argue but Clarke quelled them both with a look. “You two shut up. There aren’t enough of us to just go roaring in. We need information.”

“Then there’s something you have to see.” Enriq stood in the church doorway, his hunched posture making him look small despite his size. He handed a tablet to Clarke.

Salujah’s face looked out of it, straight into what would have been the camera for the video file waiting to play. “This is for – fuck I don’t even know her name,” Salujah’s usually deep voice came out tinny through the tablet’s speaker. “This is for anyone who has a chance to hear it, but I guess I hope that it’s Shumway’s new protégé. I’m not – that is – I’m with the guard,” As if actually saying it had broken through some kind of wall Salujah’s words came faster, loud in the stunned silence of the church. “I was assigned to join the Saints undercover. To learn what I could and report in if you were making a move against Alpha station.”

“She’s the reason they caught Murphy on Alpha,” Bellamy breathed, snapping form shock to fury. “That fucking bitch!”

“They caught Murphy because he was reckless.” Clarke shut him down without taking her eyes off the screen.

“But I couldn’t keep doing it,” Salujah continued. “It was just wrong. I started giving them less and less; as little as I could get away with. My commander said I was compromised,” She laughed, a little bitter. “But that doesn’t matter; the important thing is they’re pulling me out. Someone else is giving them intel. They have names, lists of everyone. They know our, your businesses, the hideouts. I don’t know where they’re getting it from but you have to get out. If you’re hearing the message the church isn’t safe. Get out now.”

The screen went dark for a moment and then the video looped back to the beginning and they were caught, staring at Salujah’s frozen face.

A creeping fear twisted in Clarke’s throat.  For a moment she couldn’t move, listening for the sound of approaching boots and feeling every Saint in the room do the same. “Alright,” She started talking before fight or flight response could kick in. “The first thing we need to do is get everyone out of here.”

“And go where?” Red turned on her, looking incredulous. “You heard the video. Where do we have left to go?”

“If they know all our hideouts we go somewhere that doesn’t belong to us.”

Bellamy’s head snapped to her and Clarke could see the plan click for him. “Green’s place.”

“We know it has multiple exits,” She offered a weak smile. “And the guard has already swept it.”

“Who else knows?” Red demanded.

“Koster knows where the entrance is.” Clarke looked around but couldn’t see him.

“He’s not here,” A man interrupted. He’d been crouched against the wall with his arms around a crying girl.

“He got knew there was something wrong at the shelter zone,” She said, her voice wet and tremulous. “He told us to run.”

“She turned eighteen last month.” He explained.

“So they caught him?” Clarke asked.

“They shot him!” the girl wailed, her friend immediately turned back to soothing her.

Clarke pressed her lips together and let her eyes fall closed for a moment before she rounded back on Bellamy and Red. “Well, then no one else knows.”

“And if one of them is the spy?” Red kept his voice low.

Bellamy snorted and gestured around the room at the handful of their people who were left; tired, injured and devastated from the loss of so many. “Yeah we really look like a crack team of fucking double-agent masterminds.”

“If they were going to leave a plant they’d leave someone useful so we’d tell them things.”

“And you?” Red asked, something dangerous in his expression. “Salujah addressed the video to you. You want us all to leave for this other hideout. You didn’t want us to kill Jaha.”

“She can be trusted.” Bellamy said firmly.

“How the fuck would you know? Every time she goes out someone doesn’t come back!”

“Red,” Bellamy stepped between him and Clarke, drawing himself up. “You want to let this go.”

“The fuck I do – “

“She saved us!” The boy Clarke had cold-clocked broke into the conversation. The livid purple across his jaw did nothing to diminish his defiant expression. “The Boss stepped up. She got us out. And she shot a damn guard to keep us safe, so you can just back off.”

“Boss?” Bellamy turned to look at Clarke from the corner of his eye, still staying between her and Red.

“Boss.” She shrugged, and pushed past him so she could address the group.  “Listen up; the guards know we’re here. They know our names and they’re gunning for us. That means we can’t let them catch us. We’re heading to a safe place on Hydro station till we can figure this bullshit out. What I need is for you to stay calm and look out for each other.”

They divided the remaining Saints into small groups – keeping the confident ones with those who seemed on the edge of panic – and sent them through different routes to the back entrances of the sealed off section of Hydro station that had once been Matteo Green’s base.

When Red had taken the first group, Clarke moved to catch Bellamy’s eye, only to find him already motioning her to one side. “I had an idea-“ She began, but he cut her off.

“I want to send my mom to Zoe’s old place in the silo.”

“I had an idea that we should send Aurora to the empty office in the silo.” She finished, laughing a little at their synchronicity

Bellamy grinned, rueful. “You want to send Jaha too?”

“No, he’ll be better with us.”

“Figured I should run it by you, now that you’re the Boss and all.” He rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t start it,” She protested, then shrugged. “But if they need it?”

“They do,” He agreed without hesitation. “They need to feel like someone’s in control and I couldn’t with Red pushing my buttons every fucking step. You have their back, that’s good enough when things are this fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Clarke wanted to pace and panic, but there were too many Saints watching – waiting for their turn to crawl through a station out for their blood. She couldn’t afford to show them anything less than calm assurance. “We need to get the rest of the crew back or we’re all fucked.”

“You got a plan, Princess?”

“Not boss?” She tried.

“Not to me.”

Clarke sighed. “Then I’ve got nothing.”

“Want me to find a hammer?” They traded smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.

“I’ll let you know.”

 

* * *

 

The blast door Bellamy had damaged was still down in the old King’s compound on Hydro. They posted guards on the other entrances and sent out four of their precious few remaining Saints to find out where the guards were keeping the crew, while the rest of them squeezed into the shot up conference room and tried to get some sleep. Nos managed to crack into what was left of Green’s computer, opening up the secret entrance to Agro and Bellamy led his mother and a few of the youngest or injured Saints out to the silo. He came back carrying a half conscious Monroe, covered in blood with a gunshot wound in her shoulder.

Red and Wells cleared the desk so he could lay her out and Clarke could see the injury. She peeled the fabric of Monroe’s jacket back from where dried blood had glued it on and the girl came awake with a strangled cry. “They made sure I got back,” She said, panting through the pain “I just left them.”

“It wasn’t your fault Monroe,” Shas elbowed through the group, linking their hands and bringing Monroe’s knuckles to her lips.

Bellamy touched her shoulder and Shas nodded reluctantly, moving to hover a little out of the way. “We need to know what you found.”

“They aren’t in lockup. They’re on Alpha.”

“Where are they keeping them on Alpha station?” Wells interjected. “The guard unit isn’t big enough, there’s only a few holding cells.”

Monroe shook her head. “I need the map.”

“You need to lie still,” Clarke said firmly, pressing a bandage hard against the bullet wound. “You’re damn lucky this isn’t worse.”

Red pulled out the map they’d saved of Alpha station’s layout, unrolling it next to Monroe so she could see it without moving away from Clarke.

“They’ve sealed them off here,” she drew a line with her finger, leaving a streak of red across the open side of a dead-end corridor. “It looks like they built it just for this. The whole thing is sealed down, even the maintenance conduits. And everyone’s in there.”

“It’s an airlock,” Clarke said faintly. She knew that corridor, that was the airlock nearest Prison station. That was where they floated condemned convicts. “They built a giant airlock.”

“So they’re just going to float them all? Half of them are under eighteen!”

“Jaha’s making a fucking example of them.”

Clarke looked at Wells who shook his head minutely. This had Kane’s fingerprints all over it. He would have planned for total extinction of the gangs. What better way to make sure there was air for everyone else? 

“How many guards?”

“Four,” Monroe coughed and then winced. “Four in the hallway guarding the airlock. Six outside in front of the doors. But they’re all over the sector, at least three squads patrolling. They’re moving people out, locking the place down. That’s how we got caught.”

Bellamy cursed, and Red echoed it. “Too many.”

“No,” Bellamy spat. “No. I’m not going to leave them there. We can take out the guards.”

“There’s more than a hundred guardsmen on the Ark,” Wells said gently. “If I know Kane he’ll have them all on standby.”

“If we get the crew out then we can take them.”

“They all have communicators. You attack, they raise the alarm, then every one of them comes down on you.”

“What if,” Clarke mused. “We could get the crew without raising an alarm?”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Red rolled his eyes at her.

“Monroe said they’re being held in a big airlock.”

“Which means they’re gonna be floated soon Princess, we don’t have time to waste here.”

“But airlocks keep oxygen in as well as out.” She said. “If we locked down the sector…”

“No way,” Wells cut her off. “You can’t be serious.”

Red caught the idea quickly. “You want to shut down the air. Suffocate the guards while our people keep breathing.”

“Just enough to knock them out,” Clarke protested. “Monroe said they emptied the sector.”

“That’s,” Wells couldn’t even finish. The whole group fell quiet.

It was anathema. People had been locked up or floated for wasting any air at all. To even suggest they deliberately seal off part of the Ark felt wrong on a fundamental level. It went against everything her father would have wanted. “Can we do it?”

Nos and Red looked at one another, then back to Clarke. “Maybe.” Red said at last.

“This is Hydro station, so the controls run through here,” Nos explained. “We won’t be able to cut the whole sector off but a few hallways I can manage. We’re gonna need someone at a local access point on Alpha to make it work, though.”

“So you stay here, Red comes with us?”

Red shook his head. “You need someone better than me at this.”

“Kira can do it,” Nos offered after a moment’s thought. “She’s fast and we’ve worked together before.”

“Get her in here.” Bellamy told him.

“So you somehow get in and manage to choke out the assholes watching our people,” Red started. “If we manage that without somehow setting off every alarm on the Ark, how are you going to sneak fifty scared people off Alpha station?

 “We’re not.” Bellamy said. “We pull the air and get to the cage. Then when they come for us, you and whoever’s left hit them from behind.”

“You want _me_ to lead what’s left of our fucking crew through the guards to rescue you?”

“Once the alarms go they’ll all be focused on us,” Clarke pointed out. “You just come up and hit them from behind. We punch through the line and we run.”

“This is war,” He said pointedly. “You two know that right?”

“We can’t leave them behind.”

Red made an inarticulate sound of frustration and sunk both hands into his hair. “Argh, okay fine, fuck it. Let’s just go to war with the rest of the Ark.”

“That’s the spirit.” Bellamy smirked at him.

“You’re a fucking asshole Blake.”

 

 

Once Clarke had picked her team and left the rest of the Saints to prepare, Nos and Wells descended on her, to pick apart her radio and the plan, respectively.

“I should be going with you.” Wells groused as he handed Clarke a pair of extra magazines.

“You’re still injured,” She shook her head, taking the radio back from Nos to clip it on her collar.

“I wish we had something better.” He lamented.

“I’ve got this,” Clarke pulled the comm. she’d gotten off the guard from the shelter zone out of her pocket. “Can we make it work?”

“Not with the radio frequency,” Nos seized it. “I could tune it so you can pick up the guard’s band, but these things are all wired to a central hub. It will register when it comes back online. If someone is looking for it they’ll be able to contact you.”

“But not track me?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s too good not to use,” Clarke decided. “Set it up. I can turn it on once we’re at Alpha.” She turned her attention back to Wells.  “You shouldn’t be running with those ribs. Besides, you’re our ace in the hole. If everything goes to shit I expect you to plead our case with your Dad.”

“You know that won’t work.”

“Yeah,” She sighed. “I do.” Clarke tucked the last of the ammo in her pocket and clapped Wells on the shoulder. “Watch Monroe’s injury, and keep them safe alright? You’re a Saint now.” Nos waved the comm. at her and Clarke stepped back to hook it on her ear

“Whatever you say, Boss.” Wells didn’t even try to fake a smile,  

Bellamy appeared beside them, armed to the teeth and carrying what looked like a crowbar. “Ready to go?”

“Let’s do this.”

 

* * *

 

 

The first part of the plan worked well enough to make Clarke suspicious.

They entered Alpha through Prison station, right next to the sector where the condemned were floated. Bellamy’s team taking point, while the group of three following Clarke brought up the rear, keeping Kira safe between them.

The two stations were connected by an atrium that had been built out of the original space station docking bays and then converted into units. There were two guards covering the station edge, completely unprepared for the force of the Saints attack. Bellamy didn’t even wait to hit them with the crowbar he was carrying; instead he whipped it down the corridor just as they rounded the corner. It bounced off the guard’s head with a clang and he went down like a ton of bricks. Enriq thundered past him hit the second guardsman with a punch that knocked him flat before he could even touch his comm.

Bellamy took both shock sticks and tossed one to Clarke as they moved off down the hall. The atrium units all stood open, the mess left behind a clear indication that they had been evacuated in a hurry. It left Clarke feeling exposed in a way she didn’t like, but they encountered no resistance as they crept forward; this part of the sector seemed unpatrolled. As they rounded the next left, the passage to Alpha station came into view. Beyond where the blast doors would close, the sector was quiet and dim, running on half power.

Kira moved ahead, following the thick bunches of electrical cords laid out along the floor to an alcove that ended in a door patterned in yellow warning stripes. The door was propped open to allow the heavy cables to run back out towards Alpha. Pulling a thinner knot of wires from her pocket, she plugged a battered tablet into some part of the machinery. Bellamy passed her his radio and gestured for his team to move out of the recess and take up position around the sector’s blast doors.

“Nos,” Kira whispered.

“ _I’m connected_ ,” Clarke heard him say through the radio. “ _Give me a minute. Okay, close the blast doors_.”

Kira hit a heavy switch next to the tangle of cords and the doors snapped shut with a hiss and a clang. “Watch our backs,” Clarke waved her team back the way they had come and turned her attention to the security feed pulled up next to the code Kira was running.

“ _Ready_?” Nos asked.

Kira tapped the screen twice. “You should have direct access.”

“Don’t vent the air,” Clarke reminded him. “Just redistribute the oxygen to other sectors.”

“ _What do you take me for?”_ Nos griped. “ _Get ready to breath deep_.”

It took a moment before she could tell the difference, the way her lungs filled more quickly, the slightest sense of light-headedness. Clarke bent closer to the screen, watching the camera angle shift to different views of hallways full of guards. She’d studied under her mother long enough to understand the effects of oxygen deprivation. Zero-g mechanics came back with mild cases pretty frequently.

It was hard to notice at first, they’d told her. When the air wasn’t oxygenated it still felt like air. The pressure on the lungs and throat felt the same. The impulse was to breathe faster, deeper. Autonomic function kept you gasping until you passed out, without even thinking to call for help because you were still breathing; the body doing exactly what it’s supposed to do.

The first guard crumpled and hit the floor. The rest of them following quickly, dropping like flies.

“Alright, Nos.” Clarke tapped the radio as fast as she could. “Let the air back in.”

“ _On it_.” He sounded almost as relieved as she felt.

The levels on Kira’s readout changed slowly from red back to blue, then green. “The oh-2 is still low in there,” She said. “But we better get moving. I don’t know how long they’ll stay down.”

The blast doors hissed open.

 

 

This part of Alpha station was laid out like a maze but it was easy to sprint along the tangle of cannibalized cables and unconscious guards towards the newly constructed giant airlock.

The Saints inside had pressed close to the glass doorway, as far away from the outer wall of the Ark as they could manage. They looked exhausted, ragged and scared. Clarke rushed to the glass, pressing her hands against it as though she might be able to push right through.

“Kira, door!” Clarke ordered, even though the other girl had already bolted for the controls.

The door slid open and Saints poured out en-masse, surrounding Clarke and Bellamy with shouts of gratitude. “Kira!” A woman rushed to the girl and swept her up, almost muffling her joyous cry of “Mom!”

They were all so thrilled no one noticed the nearest guard regaining consciousness until he shot Kira’s mother in the leg. Kira caught her as she fell with a scream; the guard shouted into his comm. and the boy Clarke had punched put a slug right through his forehead.

“Shit.” Someone swore vehemently in the stunned silence.

Clarke ran for Kira’s mother. The bullet had punched through part of her calf but the damage was minor. She took the scarf someone held out to her and wrapped it around the wound tight enough to bruise. “You’re fine,” Clarke promised. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Can she run?” Bellamy asked, voice low.

“Yes.” The woman said firmly. Kira immediately ducked under one arm to help support her, nodding.

“Good,” He turned back to the crowd; muscle in his jaw jumping with how hard he’d clenched it. “Anyone who isn’t armed, pick up a weapon,” He called over the crowd. “Stay close and quiet, we need to move fast and watch each other’s backs.”

He turned to Clarke. “We need someone watching the rear.”

“Enriq,” She said, and then looked to the boy with the bruised face.

“Stirling.”

“Stirling,” Clarke nodded. “You two are on the back. If we have to turn around fast, you lead them back to the hideout.”

They nodded in unison and pushed their way through the crowd as Clarke headed to the front of the group. “Not what I meant, Princess.” Bellamy said, hot on her heels.

“It’s what you’re getting.” Clarke retorted, checking her corners and stepping out into the hallway.

They made it two corridors before they hit the first conscious guards. Three cadets, just pulling themselves to their feet. Bellamy feinted left - ducking as Clarke threw a knife into the throat of the one in the centre - then he swung out to clothesline the one on the right. The guard hit the floor with a wet crunch. Clarke caught the outstretched gun of the man on the left and twisted behind him, bracing his elbow to bring his hand up underneath his own chin and force him to pull the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot was deafening in the quiet hall. Bellamy rounded on her, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry,” Clarke whispered. She tapped her ear, activating the stolen comm.

“What was that?” a voice said on the other end. “Report!”

“Beta squad headed down corridor fourteen, sir.”  

She glanced up at the large, yellow fourteen painted on the nearest wall and waved twice towards the opposite end of the hallway, holding up ten fingers when Bellamy caught the gesture.

“Send the rest around down corridor five. Check prisoner containment.”

“Hold here,” Bellamy whispered loudly to the crowd of Saints. The ones who were armed dropped into position to cover the hallway. Clarke moved up till she could duck into the door of an empty unit. On the opposite side of the hall Bellamy did the same, both of them pulling their guns.

The squad was moving slowly, but Clarke could track their progress by their footsteps and the shadowed reflection they left in the window at the far end of the hall. She waited until she could almost hear the nearest one’s breathing then, with a nod at Bellamy, slid half her body around the corner and shot him cleanly through the neck.

She caught him with her free hand before the force of the shot could throw him too far backwards, and held him as cover while she took out the guard behind him with a bullet to the head. The one coming up on her right across the hallway recovered quickly from his surprise but before he could draw a bead on Clarke, Bellamy took him out at the knees with his stolen shock baton; tapping him in the back of the head once as he went down, then swinging his gun up to pick off two more.

Unable to hold up the dead weight of the guard one handed, Clarke let him go and dropped to one knee with him, firing over his head. Two more guards went down. She snatched up the dead man’s weapon, and dove to the other side of the hall behind Bellamy as he dashed forward, shooting. Two guards hit cover; the third dodged and then froze when Bellamy’s gun clicked empty. They stared at one another for half a breath then Bellamy whipped the empty weapon hard at his head, planting the shock baton in the guard’s gut when he fell back

“Bellamy!” He spared her a half glance and Clarke threw him her stolen gun. He dropped the shock stick and caught it smoothly, firing on guard nine as Clarke rose to put her own last round into number ten.

Apart from the sound of their panting, the hall was silent. Then one of the Saints in cover let out a whoop and they both relaxed.

“Weren’t you the one who told me to watch your ammo?” Clarke teased as Bellamy retrieved his gun.

“Oh fuck off,” he groused, but he was pursing his lips to hide a smile. Motioning the Saints up, they took off again, reloading as they ran.

 “I think it’s time we start the rest of this party.” Bellamy said, once they had neared the edge of the sector.

She flashed him a breathless grin and thumbed on her radio “Red where are you?” Clarke half sang. “It’s time for the cavalry.”

There was no answer. She traded a look with Bellamy who tapped his own radio. “Red?”

“ _He’s gone,”_ The voice on the other end was Wells.

Clarke’s stomach dropped. “The fuck you say?” Slipped, strangled out of her.

“ _Red is gone_ ,” Wells repeated. _“I was watching Monroe and he started ranting about how we couldn’t get out of this and we had to cut our losses. Then he ran and took half the Saints with him before I could stop them._ ” He sounded gutted. Bellamy had stopped walking, looking behind them over the fifty Saints in their wake.

They’d blown through one patrol with surprise on their side, but there would be more. Without anything to draw them off, the Saints would be lucky if a third of the group made it out.  From the look on their faces, they knew it too.  Ahead, Clarke heard the snap hiss of a door opening. Behind, Kira’s mother dropped her daughter’s arm and pulled a gun from her waistband with a grim expression.

“ _I’ll get the rest of us together_ ,” Wells was saying. “ _We’re coming to you, hang on_!” In the corner of her eye, Bellamy shook his head and Clarke clicked the radio back on.

“No,” She looked up to the opening blast doors at the end of the hallway. The passage ahead was filled with ranks of guardsmen. “It’s too late Wells. Keep them safe.”

“ _Wait, no_!”

She ignored his shout of protest, turning to wave people back as Bellamy roared “Cover!”

The Saints scrambled back, towards a slightly off center intersection of four hallways. “Right!” Clarke called, hugging the wall on that side of the hallway. She rounded the corner and then yanked back as fast as she could to avoid the spray of gunfire from the squads marching up in that direction. Clarke jammed her back against the angled section of wall that just managed to shield her from both directions.

“Left, Princess!”

One of the Saints had managed to haul a table from some open unit and they had it half covering the left hallway, now dead ahead for Clarke. The group was too large to make use of their numbers in the corridor but those who were armed were firing at the guardsmen coming from either direction, making them work for every inch of ground.  Bellamy dashed behind the barricade shouting for the crew to fall back the way they’d come. A hiss and a loud slam cut him off as the blast doors at the end of the corridor slammed shut. Clarke saw him swallow, hard.

There was a narrow passage forming the fourth hall of their intersection, wide enough for only a few people at a time. Bellamy pushed Kira and her mother in that direction, then readied his gun. She couldn’t hear him, but Clarke saw his mouth form the words “We’ll buy you time.”

The comm. in Clarke’s ear was rattling off commands for reinforcements. She reloaded her guns and ducked out of cover to fire into the mass of guards.

They’d pulled riot shields from somewhere, shrugging off her bullets as they moved forward in unison. There was no way the Saints would be able to hold them off long enough to get more than a handful of people away.

Her communicator cut off and a familiar, female voice buzzed in her ear. _“You’re not Cadet Odekar,”_

“I’m a little busy right now,” Clarke spat. “No time to pretend I give a fuck!” They needed a distraction, not the scary lady who kept threatening Shumway. At this point there wouldn’t be a gang to run if they did get him back.

“B _usy making things difficult, yes_ ,” The woman’s voice was all tight composure. “ _I expected your thugs to slaughter little Jaha and leave him for the Ark to see. Or at least take credit properly. Then once Shumway’s intelligence rooted you out, Thelonius could massacre you all in cold blood. This is much messier than I wanted.”_

Shumway. Clarke froze and a bullet burned a hot graze across her hip before she regained herself enough to duck back into cover. Shumway had given them up.

_“A pitched battle is going to be much more difficult to turn against Jaha than execution without due process,”_ Scary Lady sounded only mildly irritated, but at this point Clarke would take the victory. She pushed aside her anger, trying to come up with anything to buy the Saints time, any kind of distraction. _“But the shock of Alpha’s hallways full of dead children might work just as well.”_

Because the guards weren’t trying to arrest anyone under eighteen. Why would they bother when no one would care?

“What are you even getting out of this? Clarke asked, then covered the mouthpiece of the comm. with one hand and tapped her radio on with the other. “Nos,” She whispered urgently. “I need you to put me through the broadcast system again.”

She could make them care.

_“What?”_

“I need my radio wired into the whole Ark.” She could make them capture her alive.

_“They’ve locked it out; it’ll take me time to bypass it_.”

“We’re out of time!” She hissed not daring to shout in case the comm. picked it up.

“ _I can give you Alpha station_!”

Clarke let her eyes close for a second in relief. “Perfect Nos, do it.”

Scary Lady’s voice was a drone in her ear. She wanted to be chancellor and when the guards shot their way through the Ark chasing down the Saints she could claim it had been on Jaha orders and impeach him blah, blah. Clarke turned to Bellamy and their little knot of remaining Saints where they were holding down the other side of the hall.

He caught her look and stopped firing. Clarke gave him a small, sad smile.

“Worse ways to go, Princess.” He called to her, reloading. Clarke shook her head.

“ _You’re good to go, boss.”_

“Thank you, Nos.” She took her hand off the microphone. “Listen asshole, you’re not getting anything you want today. So why don’t you just float?” Clarke unhooked the comm. from her ear, dropping it and her weapon to the deck, and kicking them out toward the guard.

The rain of gunshots slowed and then stopped when she raised her arms above her head.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Bellamy half shouted at her.

“Get ready to run,” She told him, stepping out so that she was visible from all sides. “They won’t chase you.”

“How the fuck do you figure that?”

Her lips twitched, just a little. “Because they’re going to chase me.” Clarke thumbed the radio on and heard the sound in stereo over the station’s loudspeakers.

“My name,” She let her voice carry, turning slowly to make sure every guard got a look at her face. “Is Clarke Griffin. My father was Jake Griffin and I know the secret that the council killed him to protect.” She could see the officers reaching for their communicators and Clarke hoped that somewhere Jaha and her mom were losing their shit. “My father believed that everyone deserved to know the truth and if you don’t capture me. I’ll make sure that they do.”

She held for a moment, waiting to see the guards holster their guns and go for their shock batons. She risked a glance over her shoulder at Bellamy. His eye were fixed on her, his expression unreadable. Clarke wanted to rush over there, to explain or at least to say goodbye. But there wasn’t time. He looked away, pushing the last few Saints down the hall to safety and vanishing after them.

Relief poured through her. Bellamy would get away, he would protect the Saints. Everyone else would be safe.

“Clarke Griffin,” Marcus Kane’s voice called out from somewhere in the crowd of guards. “Surrender and be detained.”

Not a chance.

Dropping her hands, she exploded forwards, darting straight at the guards and then ducking through the nearest open door before any of them could react. Behind her there was the sound of shouting, the crunch as too many people tried to fit through the small doorway, Kane bellowing orders to cut her off. Clarke put her head down and ran.

 

* * *

 

 

She looked up from the charcoal drawing that she was sketching out on the floor when the door to her cell opened.

“Prisoner 319, face the wall.”

“What is this?”

“Quiet.” She turned at the snap of a box opening to see it held a series of metal bracelets. “Hold out your right arm.”

“No, no - I don’t turn eighteen for another month,” She protested, instinctively. As though it would make any difference if they decided to review her now.

“Hold out your arm,” the guard caught sight of the band already circling her wrist. “Take off your watch.”

“Not going to happen.” He moved to grab her and Clarke surged forwards, knocking him back and darting out of the cell.

Outside her four soundproofed walls the skybox was a cacophony of noise. Teenagers were being herded out towards the doors in groups of ten.

“They’re killing us.” She realized.

“Clarke, stop!”

She startled and looked up. “Mom?” Then the tranquilizer hit her in the back.  

Abby caught her before she could hit the floor. “It’s alright Clarke,” She whispered. “You’re going to the ground.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it ladies and gentlemen. I'm still debating whether to write any more of this 'verse and explore how Saints!Clarke and Bellamy tackle the ground; so if that's something you'd like to read let me know!


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